Vhenan Aravel
by eatenbydragons
Summary: Raviathan, a city elf with too many secrets and regrets, undergoes a long journey in order to find his way in the world. Part 1 is a Blight fic with many additions and twists to the original story. Contains very adult themes including dark fantasy; graphic violence; sexual situations with m/f, m/m; and the occasional bit of naughty language.
1. Married Life – Childhood's Ending

_This story is intended for mature audiences only. After some careful thought, I have decided not to give individual chapter warnings anymore for potentially disturbing content, though the ones that are up in Married Life will remain for the time being. I'll put up a little NSFW notice on sexually explicit chapters. Thanks to everyone who's voted in the poll.  
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_This story contains offensive language, violence, sex, torture, dub-con, non-con, __rape, __character deaths, and may other dark fantasy themes. Descriptions are explicit. While I would love it if you read my story, I would rather you stop here than be offended later. Thar be Dragons Ahead: Proceed At Your Own Peril.  
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_For those who continue, I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. _

_Just in case that "m/m" in the summery was a little too subtle, this fic will contain homosexual and homoerotic elements, and some pretty descriptive passages of said elements. Again - M/M. Be warned that if such things bother you, you will not like this story. That isn't going to happen for some time though, so if you want to enjoy a hetero romance, give the first section, "Married Life," a try. That part is more of a 'coming of age' story-heavy on the romance.  
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_Reviews and critiques are very welcome.  
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Raviathan sat with his father, Cyrion, over a predawn breakfast of oats and boiled eggs. They ate in a spare room in one of the apartments lining the walls of the Denerim alienage. The apartment floor creaked when anyone walked across it, but was sturdy and well cared for. A network of cracks and stains, acquired throughout the years, decorated the old plaster walls. The cast iron stove, their sole source of heat in the harsh Ferelden winters, was a rarity in the high apartments. It leaned against one of the walls that defined the alienage, supported by reinforced beams set into the stone. A table with four chairs centered the room, though two of them hadn't been used in years. It was a mark of their relative wealth in the alienage to have extra furniture, even a second room.

A ladder led the way to the second room above. It held a bunk bed, a regular bed that would have been cramped for a human, and a washing area with one large tin bucket for a tub. Raviathan and his cousins had often soaked together in the tub as children, but now he had to fold his knees to his chest in order to fit. Privacy curtains made from old threadbare blankets were strung across the room, the fabric transparent when the sun shone through them. The chest that had once contained his mother's equipment now held his lute, fiddle, a small harp, a few pipes, but nothing more, not even the wooden practice weapons he had used years ago. Against Solyn's half-hearted protests, his father had thrown them out after Adaia had died.

"Son, I want to talk to you about something important." Cyrion rarely raised his voice in anger. Raviathan had heard disappointment from his father and often sorrow, but Cyrion was a man who lived his life through reason. As his father aged, he had become more of a pacifist, a trend that had become more pronounced in the past four years. His attitude made the elf, already care worn with iron grey hair, look even older than he was.

"Yes father?" Though still touched with sleep, Raviathan's voice was resonant and clear, ranging from a dark tenor to a baritone depending on his mood. He tended to remain soft spoken unless he was engaged in some game with the other children of the alienage.

Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Cyrion said, "It is time you became an adult. As such, I have found a wife for you."

Raviathan had known this day would come but he hadn't expected it so soon. It was not even Wintermarch yet. True, he was now of age to take a wife and become an adult among his people, but he was young. He had turned eighteen two days ago. He still had years before he needed to think about marriage. Years. The mere thought of a wife was restrictive, though he would never tell his father why. "Father, I don't want to be married."

"I know it's daunting," Cyrion said with a gentle smile, "but it's for the best. In any case, there's no arguing with it. The dowry has been paid."

"You already paid the dowry for her?" It was done then, Raviathan thought. Unless there was some grave reason for one of them to turn down the marriage, one that would ruin either of their reputations, he would be handfasted when she arrived and officially married on the Summerday Annum four months away. First Day Annum was in a few days, far too early for the Chantry permits to be processed. But if his father grew impatient, he might push them to marry on the Wintersend Annum in a month.

"I had some money I've been saving for this," Cyrion said.

Raviathan grew quiet. He knew the money must have been saved when his aunt, Solyn, was alive. Since her death two years ago, finances had grown tighter. How long had his father been planning this? Raviathan hadn't even known his father had employed a shaddain, the matchmakers who traveled between the various alienages to negotiate for a family. It was a reminder that his position in the alienage was still uncertain.

Cyrion continued, "I received word yesterday that she will be arriving early. I planned on telling you last night, but you didn't return home until late."

It was a small admonishment, but Raviathan was certain his father was unaware of his current activities. Years ago when rumors of his indiscretions had nearly cost him his standing in the alienage, Raviathan had taken steps to find more discreet partners. His father probably thought Raviathan had been working late at Alarith's shop, helping at the orphanage, or celebrating with his cousins. Though the rumors had lessened, apparently it wasn't enough. "Why is she coming early?"

"Oh, who knows," Cyrion replied. "It could be her parents were worried about the weather, or there could be trouble in the Highever alienage. She should be here this afternoon."

Short of running off to find the Dalish, Raviathan saw no way out of this situation. Finding the Dalish was a dream for many young alienage elves, but for most, the dream was nothing more than a fun fantasy played out in back alleys. Legends had built the Dalish to mythological status among their city elf cousins, as fantastic as dragons or griffins. Two years ago, Raviathan had come close to sneaking out of the city to find them, but thoughts of his father had stopped him. It felt like a betrayal to a father lost in mourning. Still stunned by the news, Raviathan asked, "What's she like?"

Cyrion smiled again. "That's my boy. Her name is Nesiara, and she's very pretty. I knew you'd ask. According to the shaddain, she's supposed to be a veritable genius with crafts."

"Thank you, Father. I appreciate what you've done for me." Raviathan responded automatically as he took in the news. His cousin Soris was five months older and wasn't betrothed yet. Why the rush to wed me, Raviathan wondered. Only orphans were hurried out this soon after their coming of age. Valendrian was often hard pressed to find a match as soon as possible in order to relieve the cost of keeping up the orphanage.

Cyrion patted his son's knee as he got up to leave, then hesitated and sat back down. The lines in his forehead grew more pronounced as he added, "One more thing. It's best not mention any of your training, the martial arts and sword play, and especially your… other training." His father had always been nervous about the last one, especially after Solyn was killed. Now Cyrion wouldn't even let Raviathan work as an herbalist, though he was more skilled at it than most and could hide it easily. Some of the elves still came to him when they were in need, but nobody spoke of it. He was one of the alienage's hidden secrets.

Once alone Raviathan washed the dishes, locked up, and left for Alarith's store. He wound his way through the labyrinth of hallways and stairs that led from their apartment to the street. The corridors were narrow allowing only one elf to pass comfortably through at a time. Should two need to pass, they would have to press their backs up against the wall and step sideways past one another. Furniture was brought in piecemeal then assembled inside the apartments. Occasional small windows shed any light on the uneven stairs, which was good enough for the residents, but the lack of glass made the building drafty. The morning cold was muted in the apartments, but Raviathan knew immediately when he passed an outer wall as the air chilled and plaster became damp. Frost left white marks along the windowsills and wooden floor.

He had lived here his whole life. He didn't see the mold stains in the plaster or cracks that exposed the wood underneath. It was as it had always been. His apartment building wasn't the best in the alienage, but it was better than most and the high walls allowed for privacy and some protection from the hard southern winds. Heavy storms rattled the ramshackle structure that would have fallen decades ago had the building not been bolted into the alienage wall.

The city was beginning to wake. The crisp stillness in the air was broken by a few ragged dogs salvaging scraps and cats hunting for mice. Here, the cats had the advantage. An animal's final shriek followed a metallic snap. His own family hadn't been so desperate, but winters were hard and more than a few elves took to eating alley vermin. The occasional light drifted out of apartment windows, a small yellow glow from a dirty, frost coated window marking waking life. Servants and workers were getting ready to leave now that the gates were open. The smell of the alienage was familiar and went unnoticed as he shivered in the cold and headed down the street.

There had been slushy half frozen rain three days ago. Mud puddles frozen in the morning chill pocketed the otherwise dry streets. One large puddle was so persistent that all attempts to keep it filled with dirt had failed. Old boards were placed across it to allow passage, but still water bred disease. This winter had been unusually mild so far so there was no snow or sludge, just ice.

Alarith's store was located in one corner of the alienage square, the only place behind the walls paved with worn stones embedded in the dirt. The vhenadahl, the great tree that was the reminder of their heritage, stood strong and thick in the center of the square. The townspeople had decorated the tree grandly for the coming annum. The winter solstice had just passed and the new year was about to begin. Raviathan thought it was odd the new year started six days after the solstice, but who knew why the days were marked as they were. It was as it always was. The red and green paint on the tree was beautiful as were the ornaments that hung from the lowest branches.

Raviathan glanced toward the platform at the other end of the square. On the annum, Salia would stand there and marry Redden, a young man from Amaranthine. Over the last few years, he had watched many of his former lovers marry on that stage. He was glad Salia was staying in Denerim. Most women left the alienage for their matches. As with all of his relationships, their time together had been short, but they had remained friends, even when it was over. Redden's exuberance paired well with her quiet confidence, and he had enjoyed spending time getting to know the new elf. The platform was a place for celebration, but when he examined it now all he felt was quiet trepidation.

As the first one there, Raviathan unlocked the store and began cleaning. Thankful for the time alone to think, Rav reflected on his father's decision. Why rush his marriage? Compared to what little he knew of humans, elves had strict rules concerning children and romance. There was a fine line between the natural affection elves shared and what was considered too much for a child to engage in. A romantic kiss would result in lectures and adults glowering at the offenders for weeks. Two children who engaged in sex would shame the families. If exile wasn't called for, it made finding a match for the offenders difficult. Exorbitant dowries had to be paid to marry those children off, and it hurt the chances of any siblings no matter how pure they were.

Those rumors were the main reason he had turned his attention to three widows two years ago. They had been more of a challenge to seduce as they were reluctant to have sex with a child, but after a month of casual flirting and then another month of serious flirting, he had found peaceful arrangements with each of them. He wasn't certain whether they knew about one another or not, but he did know that they had no illusions about marriage or love. The relationships were purely physical, interspersed with the occasional interesting conversation. Over the years Raviathan had come to realize how unfair life was for them. They were beautiful women, but because of their age, late thirties and forties, they would never be able to remarry. He liked their competence and smart conversation. Compared to the insecurities and jealousies of the girls his age, these women possessed a refreshing confidence. If all that hadn't been enough, the older women were discreet.

As elves had a low birth rate, his partners were generally safe, and he knew how to keep a pregnancy from continuing. He'd only had to do that once, thankfully, three years ago. It was in both of their interests as they would be sent away from the alienage in exile once the news got out, and it would be impossible for her to find a job with the complication of a child. Exile left an elf to the winds of fate, most of which ended at a brothel. Raviathan knew a few boys who had struggled only to realize that their only recourse was to be had by anyone who had the coin to buy their bodies. Single mothers were often forced into the same profession when a husband could not be secured or their combined income wasn't enough. He and Fenella spoke little to each other for months after she had drunk the tea.

Having a baby was not practical, they both knew that, but the idea of a child held a second unrealized future for Raviathan. He had thought about it for weeks as he waited late into the night for sleep to claim him. He thought about the child often. A child to care for, to hold when she cried, to change diapers, it filled him with a longing he had never known. He felt it pull in his chest. How would it feel to touch his baby's skin as he washed her? To lie on the floor playing and tickling the small body as she giggled? To see her laugh? Would his child have his mother's eyes? How would it feel to gaze upon his baby's face? In time, he and Fenella renewed their friendship but never became intimate again.

He thought about the relationships of his past as he dusted the shelves and checked that everything was stocked correctly. Many names and faces flashed through his memory, some stronger than others. Fenella. Sharra. Lorian. Poor Jaslyn. That was one of the few that he truly regretted, though Desha and Pauler were still painful. He hadn't felt shame for most of his actions, but he did with those two. It was a shame that had gotten worse as time went on and the consequences continued to grow darker. It wiggled in his gut, eating him from the inside out. With a marriage, there was a loss of freedom, but as he reflected on his past, he thought perhaps it might not be so bad. Left to his own devises, he had been hurting people. Sometimes badly. It wasn't fair to them. Still, he wished he could choose his own wife. And have a bit more warning.

She's probably just as nervous as I am, he thought. She was leaving behind everything she knew. All of her support- her friends and family. She would be lonely for a while until she made new friends. Giving up your family though. That had to be the hardest part. The elves who came to the alienage sometimes talked about that, how odd it was to be in a new community. It was hard for Raviathan to imagine not seeing his cousins' faces every day. That realization hit him as he swept the main floor. Giving up everything you knew must incredibly lonely. He let that thought settle into his mind.

Alarith walked in, bringing with him a gust of cold morning air. "Morning," he called in a light tenor with a hint of husk. The shopkeeper was from Tevinter, an escaped slave just as his mother and aunt had been. They all shared the same dusky skin tone, though Alarith's hair was carrot red and his eyes a pale blue.

"Morning."

Raviathan sat on a stool behind the counter and examined the supply ledger while Alarith checked the inventory in the back pantry. "Huh. We still haven't gotten that order for eggs in yet. The supplier hasn't come by, has he?"

"I haven't seen him," Raviathan answered.

"Then I might have an errand for you this afternoon if he doesn't show."

Raviathan flipped through Alarith's stock records, searching for the last delivery. Not only was the farmer becoming inconsistent, eggs had been getting steadily more expensive than usual. "I'll see what I can do, but I might be busy later."

Alarith leaned his head back out of the small stock room. "Oh yeah? What sort of mischief are you getting into this time?"

Raviathan smiled at the light teasing. He'd used Alarith as a cover story more than once, but it had been some time since he and his cousins had gotten into mischief. "My wife is supposed to be coming today."

The rest of Alarith's body appeared as he gave the younger elf his full attention. "Oh yeah?" He tousled Raviathan's shoulder length black hair. "So you're going to be an adult after all. I'm surprised it came this quickly."

Raviathan batted the hand away. "You and me both. Any idea why?"

Alarith leaned against the door sill of the stockroom and folded his arms across his chest. Under Alarith's steady gaze, Raviathan's eyes dropped, and he fidgeted with a quill. Alarith sighed. "You know you've been making people nervous for years."

"I know," Raviathan admitted. "But I thought things were getting better. I've been trying."

"You have, but I've also had to defend you a number of times. Those parents who had every right to be upset. If one girl had come forward- just one-I don't know that Valendrian would have been able to save you. Come to think of it, I'm not surprised Cyrion found a bride for you so quickly," Alarith said starting to gain momentum.

Raviathan suppressed a sigh and put his head down while the lecture continued. Alarith was right. As was his father. Raviathan only hoped he'd be able to talk to Miram and Bethany before his bride arrived. He had said goodbye to Irianna a week ago. After her daughter died from complications of pneumonia, her son in law had asked if she would be willing to move to South Reach to take care of her two grandchildren. The youngest was only a few months old. Raviathan couldn't imagine the pain his lover had gone through. It had been painful enough for him to listen to her recount memories, her daughter's favorite stories and songs, embarrassing and sweet moments. The child she raised with love and care had died far from the home she'd grown up in and the family she had loved. He had held his lover for hours while she cried wishing he could share the burden with her; anything to lighten her sorrow. He held her and rocked her, listened patiently, and gave all the tenderness he had. It was terribly insufficient, but he hadn't known what else to do.

"…and you should be grateful," Alarith finished.

"Yes ser."

The older elf snorted. "Can't remember the last time you called me ser." Raviathan gave him a halfhearted smile and Alarith sighed. "I think your father knows that you've been practicing medicine."

"I'm not sure," Raviathan said and chewed his lip. "He doesn't want me to tell my betrothed."

Alarith ran a hand through his hair. "You have to tell her. She'll find out eventually, and it'll be better if it comes from you. And," he added hesitantly, "she needs to know what that might entail." Raviathan stayed very still. It was dangerous to bring Solyn up. As far as he knew, Alarith hadn't even spoken Solyn's name since the two years following her death. Raviathan's father had been the same after his mother had died. "I think Cyrion turned a blind eye because he knew you needed some support. It would have killed him if you were exiled."

"Alarith," Raviathan asked quietly, "how close was I? To exile."

The older elf bit his lips and fixed his eyes on the floor. "It… well it doesn't matter now," Alarith said. His tone had brightened to Raviathan's relief. Talking about the rumors that had almost exiled him was shaming enough. It was embarrassing that so many here had guessed what he was up to. He had been the one in the wrong, but the their judgment still felt invasive. How disappointed where the people who loved him? In a way, Alarith felt like a dirty little secret, an adult forced to lie for him out of love for his aunt. He knew and had acted as his cover, but his father, Valendrian- how much had he failed them? Thinking back on the conversation with his father that morning, he realized he had acted like a spoiled shem. Raviathan had to consider his betrothed, and his father, whose name he'd been bringing down with his actions all these years, had remained patient and supportive. "You're getting married, and all of that's in the past. So. Tell me what you know about her."

This was a chance to be someone better. "Father didn't say much. She's from Highever. Good at crafts." At Alarith's questioning half smirk, Raviathan added with a suppressed smile of his own, "She's supposed to be pretty."

"Sounds like things could be worse."Alarith said, and Raviathan had to agree. "Have you figured out what you're going to do for a living? I'd love to hire you here, but there isn't enough work to support a family."

Raviathan shrugged. He knew that. After Soris was orphaned, Raviathan's family had helped support the orphanage. Raviathan's job at the store gave them a discount on food- and held the added benefit of letting Raviathan read anything Alarith stocked- but there was little need for him other than the occasional errand, daily cleaning, and bookkeeping. Even though Alarith had the only general store in the alienage, the store was small and the bookkeeping was light. Alarith detested dealing with numbers however and was more than happy to train Raviathan. "I'm not sure. I think my father wants me to apprentice as a carpenter."

"Not interested?"

A rage flashed in Raviathan's eyes and his mouth became stern. "That shem he works for is an ass." He had only been to Bann Rodolf's estate once, but once was enough. He hated the way the lazy chamberlain had talked to his father. His father was wise and patient and that idiot shem was constantly berating him. The insults had rung in Raviathan's ears for days. More than anything, it had shamed him to watch the human yank his father's ear just because one of the servants hadn't bleached the sheets properly. He'd turned away from the sight, as a dull sympathy ache panged his own ear. He shook with rage as he stalked away from the estate. He'd never spoken about that day to anyone.

Alarith said with a laugh, "You say that about all the shems."

Raviathan glowered down at the ledger. "Show me a shem who isn't a complete bastard, and I'll show you one who's just better at hiding behind a pedigree. Worthless is a step up for them."

"They're not all that bad," countered Alarith. "That Bann he works for… what was his name?"

"Bann Rodolf?"

"Yeah. He's a good sort." Raviathan rolled his eyes with a snort. Alarith let the younger elf's insolence go as he continued. "You could always become an herbalist."

"No. I told you. Father barely allows that now. After I'm wed, he'll forbid it entirely."

The comment fell on a silent room. They both knew why. What had happened to Solyn could easily happen to him though only Cyrion understand the full danger as Raviathan did.

Alarith had cared for Solyn deeply, enough that he was considering asking Valendrian's permission to marry her. It was very unusual to take a woman in her late thirties, but he had loved her. Still loved her. Raviathan remembered their subtle flirtations. As soon as he was old enough to understand, Raviathan had given his aunt a meaningful glance when she and Alarith returned home after an evening together. They claimed they were out purchasing her equipment, but Raviathan new better. Solyn had ignored the glance, which had only amused Raviathan further. After that, he had begun teasing her mercilessly, enough that she slapped his shoulder once when they were working together, the only time she had ever hit him. They had both laughed, and Raviathan settled on amused looks whenever the two flirted after that. Raviathan had assured her that he was getting to an age when he wouldn't need her anymore; that she could soon have the life that she had sacrificed for him. Tough as she was, she had hugged him, and told him that making sure he was safe had never been a sacrifice.

As he emerged from his brief reverie, Raviathan noted the sorrow that still affected Alarith at any mention of her. Her death nearly two years ago had hurt them both to the core. He chuckled to lighten the conversation. "I could always become a servant for some Bann."

"Yes, and the halls would run red by the end of the day," Alarith laughed trying to put the memories of Solyn behind him.

Raviathan rubbed his forehead. "I don't know. There isn't enough work in the alienage to support me." He scoffed, "I could always take in laundry. Otherwise it's the docks, or serving pompous shems, or working for them." He put his heel up on the stool and hugged his leg. "I guess the docks feel most honest. At least I don't expect civility there."

"You can't work at the docks," Alarith said. "You're too smart for that."

Raviathan frowned. "So all the elves that work there are worthless?"

Alarith gave an exasperated sigh. "You know that's not how I feel. Don't put words in my mouth."

"You're the one who said I'm too smart for that," Raviathan accused.

"The docks are for unskilled workers when nothing else is available. You are well spoken and can learn any trade you set your mind to. Why not take up an apprenticeship?"

"I can't be a servant," Raviathan said. "I can't let some shem scream insults at me all day long. I know I need to provide for my family, but it would kill me to put my head down and let them treat me like trash."

Alarith returned from the pantry and set a bag of oats on the center display. "Say that when your family is hungry."

"You're the one saying no to the docks. If that's what it takes, I'll be willing to do it."

Alarith spread one arm wide in indignation, and placed the other on his hip. "You think they're going to be nicer at the docks?"

"Of course not!" Raviathan shot back. "But a lord should know how to treat people. They're supposed to be educated. They have all the advantages in life but look how they treat us. We're scum to them. Yeah, I know the docks are rough, but they treat everyone like scum, not just the elves." And I don't expect anything more, he added to himself.

Alarith sighed. "It doesn't have to be so final. There really are humans out there that aren't so bad. If you earned enough, you could open up a shop here."

Bitterness laced Raviathan's voice, "How many elves have been able to get the capital to own their own shops?"

Before Alarith could answer, Nola walked in. She was a fair elf with dark hair and was rather pretty in her own shy way. Though she was the same age as Raviathan, the two never spent much time together. She was too passive for him to bother tolerating her overly pious attitude. Alarith called out, "Morning Nola. Anything you need today?"

"Oh. I am supposed to get more soap for my mother," she mumbled.

Alarith pulled a box down from a top shelf. "Seems like she's getting a lot of orders for laundry lately."

"Oh. Yes. One of the Market women has been sick lately." She glanced at Raviathan and then quickly away. "Um, how are things with the store?"

"The usual," Alarith replied. "Although I'm going to need a new assistant soon."

"Oh?" Nola flicked another glance at Raviathan.

"That'll be fifty bits. Yep. My old one is getting married. If your brother is interested in the job, send him my way."

Nola bobbed her head and hurried out. Alarith chuckled as he put the coins away, and Raviathan scratched the transaction in the ledger. "There's going to be a lot of that the next few weeks."

"What, looking for my replacement? I'm surprised you want one."

"Hey," he replied, "I've gotten used to sleeping in a little. But that's not what I mean. I can almost hear all those hearts breaking."

Raviathan gave him a skeptical smile. "What are you on about?"

Alarith replied in a falsetto, "Oh. He's getting married? Oh. Maker, make his wife be lost at sea. Oh. Maker, make me his bride to be."

Raviathan ducked his head to hide a smile. Alarith had captured Nola's constant habit of praying all too well. "Don't be ridiculous. Nola and I never even talk."

"Why do you think that is?" Alarith laughed. "She gets all flustered around you." He turned serious as he fixed Raviathan with a look. "If you've done half of what I suspect, I'm surprised half the parents in the alienage haven't added something to your dowry."

Raviathan busied himself with reviewing Alarith's books. "I'm getting married, so no one needs to worry anymore."

Letting the subject go, Alarith pulled a wooden box full of vegetables and a small sack of flour from the stockroom. "This goes to the orphanage today."

"I'll be back for that soon. I have a few errands to run first." Alarith glared at him, and Raviathan raised a hand in placation. "Nothing bad."

Alarith harrumphed but said no more.

Taking that as acquiescence, Raviathan left the store.


	2. Married Life – Mellifluous Reflections

Dawn was just breaking, shading the grey sky with a band of pink. Workers trudged in a steady procession of ones and twos to the gates, rubbing the sleep from half opened eyes. A few nodded Raviathan's way as they traveled along, but most ignored him. Raviathan headed down the main street, up two side streets, then through a wide alley. There was no order to the buildings in the alienage aside from the mutually agreed upon square and main road. Buildings just popped up wherever someone chose to live.

The farther from the square and the Market entrance, the shabbier the homes became. He passed a new home that had been erected about a year ago by an older couple who no longer had children living with them. It was a lean to, a few worn boards scavenged from the city and tacked on to an existing home. Raviathan expected that in ten years, the alley would be half its current width with a dozen similar homes added on. The shelters would become more stable as successive generations built floors and true walls. When that happened, second tiers would be added. It was how his apartment building had developed.

To Raviathan these humble new homes seemed hopeful. Families found a nitch to live in. These shelters might start off as modest, just a few boards to protect from the rain and cold, but like seeds drifting through the air, families found hold somewhere and started growing. It was the history of elves. Their homelands were taken, but the race survived. Shems said elves were like weeds, unwanted and tough to eradicate. Being called a weed was no insult. His people were resilient. Elves take the barest places and find a way to live.

The apartment he was looking for was on the other side of the alienage from his. Raviathan walked into a hallway, up a flight of stairs, and out the back where a system of scaffolding was in place. Who knew why someone hadn't occupied this area yet, but the poles and ledges were easy to climb and unused. It was the most discreet path to the apartment he sought. Down a short hall, he knocked on the familiar door.

A pale woman with very dark brown hair and shimmering dark eyes let him in. "Rav. I didn't expect you. Would you like some breakfast?"

Her voice was like rich, dark chocolate. Raviathan absolutely loved her voice. "No, no. I already ate."

"Tea then?"

"Sure." Had it been summer, she would have insisted he eat something. Toast at least. Winters were always times of conservation though. He took the other chair at the table. The kettle on top her little pot bellied stove was still steaming, and Raviathan noticed the blankets for her sleeping mat had already been stowed away. His eyes lingered there for a moment.

"I have to be at work within the hour. Perhaps…"

Raviathan nodded looking down at his hands. "Miram. I don't know how to say this tactfully." Her dark eyes went wide with alarm as she set the mug in front of him. He gave her a little smile to let her know it wasn't serious. "My father has arranged a bride for me."

Her shoulders slumped slightly in relief, which Raviathan understood well enough. If they had been found out, the consequences for her would have been worse than the exile he faced. Any adult caught having sex with a child would have their ears docked to show they were no longer elven. The former elf would then be beaten, stripped naked, and dumped in a pauper's field to be shunned by all elves for the remainder of his or her life. Miram and the others had risked everything, short of their lives, for him.

A sad half smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she took his hand. "Well. I thought we might have another year or so, but we both knew it was coming eventually. Who paid the dowry?"

"We did."

"When will she be here?"

"Today. I just found out this morning."

"Hmm," she said starting her breakfast of toast and honey. "Seems quick."

Raviathan sighed with a nod. This was exactly why he liked the older women. No hysterics. No big scene. They were realists. He wondered what Miram had been like when she was his age. He hoped his wife would be as beautiful, capable, and compassionate. Folding his fingers together, Raviathan studied his hands. "Miram, I want to be a good husband."

She smiled and squeezed his wrist. "You will be. You've got a good heart Rav."

A drop of honey that had been on her finger stuck on his wrist in a sticky oval. He sucked it off. "I'm worried about it. What if I don't like her?"

Her dark eyes turned down as she dribbled more honey on her toast, and her smile turned mysterious. "Worry about that after you meet her."

"But…"

Dark eyes held his. "Do you love your cousins?"

"Of course."

"Did you get to choose them?"

Raviathan blew out a breath understanding her point. "But I grew up with them. We've shared everything together."

"True. And that's part of what's exciting about these matches. There's a whole person for you to get to know. There will always be a little mystery, and a lot of discovery." She studied him for a moment then said, "You know why we have arranged marriages?"

Raviathan shrugged. "To promote connections with other alienages. Keep our lines strong."

"That's part of it. Why we don't have marriages within an alienage. But one of the reasons it's arranged is that it takes away judgment." Raviathan cocked his head inviting further explanation. "You don't judge your cousins because no matter what you do, you can't change the fact that they're your cousins. It's the same with siblings. There might be some fighting, because that's how children are, but you still love them. Shems choose their own spouses, and many times they end up miserable. Not always, but they seem a lot less successful than elves. They make their choice out of infatuation or lust, but that doesn't last. When the emotions run their course, they still want that excitement, but they're stuck, and then they start to resent their spouse. They act as if they've been betrayed because they can't keep what was promised. They have all these expectations that were failed. Neither of you have any expectations. You come to each other fresh, and knowing your fate, will do your best to get along."

Raviathan smiled and squeezed her wrist, avoiding the honey on her fingers. "Good advice. But what if she doesn't like me?"

The fine lines around Miram's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Rav, you're too damn charming when you want to be. Give her that smile, and be the sweet boy that you can be, and you've got no worries my dear."

Raviathan leaned down to kiss the top of her hand. Had he not been betrothed, he would have sucked the honey off her fingers. "Thank you," he whispered. He finished his tea while she cleaned her hands. They embraced and kissed goodbye.

"I still expect a visit now and then for tea."

"I can finally use the front entrance."

She laughed. "It'll be fine Rav." She studied him again with eyes as large and endless as the night sky. "You know, I'm grateful we had these years. You made me feel young again. And," she said wrapping one arm around him in a half embrace, "I never thought I'd feel so much like a woman again."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and gave her one final kiss on the lips, sweet as it was light. He rested his forehead against hers. "Thank you," he whispered. When he leaned back, he studied her dark eyes for a long moment. "You're really alright?"

"Sure," she said patting his arm. "Or at least I will be soon. Not to worry."

The two of them headed in different directions down the hall. Raviathan's way was quicker, and he was already past the alley by the time she left the building, a sad but content smile on her lips.

Raviathan climbed a semi-permanent ladder to some scaffolding that the residents of the second story considered a deck. He crept across a roof top so as not to disturb the family inside then around the building. One day the scaffolding would be closed off to make proper hallways, but until then Raviathan would use it to travel between apartments. He dropped down through a small hole in the corner of the scaffolding, made a turn through the tight construction, avoiding waste puddles, and arrived at his second errand.

Bethany, a sweet faced red head, let him in. Just as with Miram, there was no drama. She smiled, quietly accepting the news, and they said a bittersweet goodbye to the relationship. When Raviathan left, jumping against the stone wall and grasping the edge of the hole to pull himself up to the deck, he felt like he had been cleansed. He walked a little straighter, his head held a little higher. Both women had been graceful and sweet, glad for the time they had and ready to move on. They were all done with the relationships they had to hide. As much as he had enjoyed his time, they had all been at risk and with risk came an undercurrent of guilt.

"Be a good husband Rav," Bethany had said. "If I knew I would only have fourteen years with my Dennin, I would have soaked up every minute we had together for all that it was worth. Look for the good, and build on that."

It was strange to feel so light. It was an odd sort of freedom, and he paused for a moment in a hidden corner between ramshackle homes and turned his face to the sun. He closed his eyes and let the sun's light wash his skin, the heat sinking in. This new freedom made him dizzy. It wasn't until that moment that he realized how oppressive all the hiding had been. Before the widows, there had been a greater chance of being found out, but with them the consequences were much worse.

The grumblings of the works leaving the alienage and the morning greetings between women drifted up from the ground below. Pregnant women and those women who remained at home took care of the young children. They traded jokes and bits of gossip between them as they went about their business. A toddler started crying, his clumsy arms reaching for his mother's retreating back. Little Terin. He was the first child Raviathan had delivered without his aunt. It had been so much scarier without her. The burden of responsibility had been solely on him, and it was one of the few times he had felt loneliness. It had been an easy delivery, thank the Maker, and when the little blue eyed boy was in his arms, that loneliness retreated. He had never felt that way since.

As he cleaned the tiny newborn, his heart had swelled just as it had when his cousin Eldwyn, the first child he had ever helped deliver, was born. It was in the moment Terin was born, healthy and whole, that Raviathan understood the protectiveness his mother and aunt had for the alienage. They were the caretakers and guardians, and it was their strength and wisdom that stood like holy pillars in his mind.

Terin quieted when his auntie Myra wiggled a little stuffed bear in front of him. The tears stopped as he reached for the bear, his auntie leading him back in to the warmth of her home. As much as he hated the rumors, his family was everything to him. How did his bride feel about leaving her home? How many people and memories was she leaving behind? Sometimes he heard stories from the other elves who traveled to Denerim, how strange a new alienage could be, how it was just familiar enough that the differences were all that more noticeable.

In some ways he would have preferred to be the one to leave for a new alienage. The idea was exciting, as was the prospect of getting away from the reputation he had. It would be a wonderful thing to start somewhere fresh and unknown where he could leave the rumors and memories behind. No matter his efforts, those rumors continued to dog him. What wouldn't he give up for a clean start? Those thoughts lasted until he thought of leaving his father and cousins behind. Raviathan wondered if his father had paid a dowry because it would be less noticeable if no one wanted to take him for a match for their daughter. Dowry prices were not discussed much, so an excessive one to make up for a possible bad match could go unnoticed.

The feeling of lightness diminished, and Raviathan started back for Alarith's shop. Whoever this Nesiara was, he hoped that she would not be too put off when she learned more about him. It was a depressing thought, and he wondered why he was so worried about what he would think of her. He was a selfish child.

"Hey, Rav," a woman whispered from her door.

He glanced at her then nonchalantly scanned the alley. Seeing no one, he ambled toward the door and slipped inside a tiny one room apartment. One wall of the home was the plaster exterior of another house, and gaps in the wood had been roughly patched or stuffed with hay muck. Sleeping mats for the couple and their child to share lay in one corner. Instead of a proper stove, they had a stone box to cook their food. Cevin, a boy of three, sat miserably on the wooden toilet.

"Thanks for coming in," Alorn said. She was pathetically thin with worn hair and worn clothes and a worn slump to her slender shoulders. "Cevin's been throwing up and having the runs since yesterday."

Raviathan knelt down in front of the boy and rested his hand against the child's head. "Hey Cevin," he said gently. "You're not feeling well?"

"No," he said in a slow whine. He panted slightly when a watery slosh came from the bucket. "Tummy hurt."

"Tummy hurts, huh?" Raviathan put a hand over his lower stomach and asked, "Does it hurt here?"

Cevin managed a 'm-hmm' and nodded. Raviathan brushed back the boy's fine hair then stood to talk to Alorn quietly. "Two days you said? He has a fever. Any other symptoms?"

Alorn crossed her arms over her stomach. "Started yesterday afternoon. He started throwing up. I wasn't sure if I should talk to you."

Nearly everyone knew about him. While he understood his father's desire for caution, there were many more times he saw it as foolish or occasionally dangerous. "It's fine. I think Cevin has a pretty common infection. Give him more water to make up for what he's losing and mix a bit of salt with it. Enough so that it tastes like a tear. Feed him in smaller meals throughout the day, and that will help when he needs to vomit. No fruit. Broth is best. If you can, give him an elfroot leaf to chew on. The infection is transferred through feces, so make sure you clean yourself and him well, and be careful how you clean the toilet so it doesn't spread. He should be fine in a few days. If not, let Alarith know and I'll make something, but I don't think that will be necessary."

"Okay," Alorn said. "So it's not serious then?"

"Well," Raviathan said. He didn't want to worry her needlessly, but there were dangers. "As long as he gets enough fluid, he should be fine. Let me know, alright?"

"Sure Rav." Alorn fidgeted then started to say, "About payment…"

Raviathan raised a hand. "Friendly advice." She always asked, and he always refused. Most others didn't bother asking even when they could afford to. Raviathan wondered if it was pride that always made her offer, but she was always relieved when he said no. Raviathan bit his lips which caught Alorn's cautious interest. "Well, perhaps you can return the favor." She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Raviathan nibbled his lip feeling shy. "Um, what was it like coming to a new alienage?"

At that Alorn gave a nervous but warm smile. "Actually, I didn't have an alienage before I came. My parents worked for a bann, in the fields. Just walking through Denerim for the first time was strange. I like it here though. Even though it was hard leaving my parents, it felt good being around other elves."

"Then how was your match arranged?"

"Valendrian." Worry tightened her forehead. "Are… are you leaving?"

"Um," Raviathan said feeling shy. "Well, my bride is arriving today. From Highever. I was just wondering what it would be like for her."

Alorn's smile took the fatigue from her face, and she hugged him. "Oh, that's wonderful."

A shy smile softened Raviathan's mouth, and he looked down at her bare feet. "Yeah. I'm just nervous."

"Don't be Rav. Things will turn out fine. One look at that face of yours and she'll be smitten for sure."

It was the closest Alorn ever got to flirting, which made Raviathan chuckle. Cevin whined, "Mommy," which ended the conversation.

"Take care Alorn. Lots of water."

"Thanks Rav," she said as she knelt to rub Ceven's belly.

Raviathan glanced out the window first, then quietly left when he was sure the alley was empty. Perhaps another reason his father wanted him to stay in this alienage was because he felt he might be able to protect his son that way. Raviathan wondered about that. He wasn't all that familiar with the templars here, but he would be lost in another alienage where he didn't know the attitudes of either the elves or the templars, or even where the local Chantry was. In another alienage, the elves wouldn't know about him though. Would he keep his secrets, or would seeing elves in need of attention eventually draw him out anyway? What would this Nesiara think? Raviathan was glad his father hadn't told him beforehand. He would have driven himself mad with questions.

Back at the shop, a few men stood together in a corner discussing tools and work opportunities that might come up with the approaching annul. They greeted him absently as he went behind the counter to wash his hands then collect the orphanage groceries. He whispered to Alarith, "Alorn's son is ill."

Alarith gave him a small nod. He had relayed messages often and kept Raviathan's medicinal goods behind the counter. "Come back later to see about that supplier."

Raviathan balanced the box on his shoulder and headed out. The orphanage was not far, just down the street from the square. Most of the workers had left for the day, but there were still many elves milling about in the bright morning sun. The southern wind that blew in with bitter frost had died down which made the winter day almost bearable. Wives and children, a few who worked in the alienage, and some who worked evenings and came during the day to visit their families milled about the square. Two elderly elves, Dyncar and Amrie, sat on the same bench they did everyday watching the same routines pass as they had for years. The two men rarely spoke, just watched everything with their wide, owl like eyes. Raviathan delivered the box of groceries to the back kitchen then left to find Soris.

"Hey cousin," a voice greeted him from the breakfast hall.

"Hey Soris. Are you free?"

"I have some mending to do for my chores first," said Soris giving him a hug.

"Okay."

Soris led the way knowing Raviathan would help make the work faster. They sat on the laundry room's short stools threading needles by the light from the still frosty back window. Raviathan eyed the small garden. "Elfroot is in the wrong place. It should be planted where it gets more shade. The cabbage needs more sun and protection from the morning cold. She planted them way too early. They won't last three days. If they're still alive."

"Huh. Don't tell that to Venri. She'll chew your ear off for criticizing her garden," said Soris. Though they were first cousins, Soris's father was Raviathan's uncle, no one would guess they were related. Soris had Cyrion's blue eyes and fine pale skin with auburn hair he kept very short. The only trait they shared were their soft lips, though Soris's mouth was a bit thinner.

"Doesn't make it less true." Raviathan grabbed a sock and started darning while Soris struggled with the needle.

Soris squinted with one eye shut as he tried again to thread his needle. "I've got news cousin. Valendrian has found a match for me."

Raviathan laughed. "Then we'll have a double wedding to be sure."

"Who else?"

"Who do you think cousin?" Raviathan said with a grin.

Soris dropped his needle. "You're getting married too?"

"Apparently. She's coming in from Highever. My father said she should be here today."

Soris picked up his needle but did not try to thread it again. Raviathan did not slow his fine, even stitching as he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if I'm ready for this," Soris said glumly. "I guess it's better than remaining a child though."

"Do you have a place to live?" asked Raviathan. That would be a huge concern for Soris as he would have to leave the alienage soon.

Soris sighed. "Valendrian and Uncle Cyrion will help with an apartment for a bit. I guess being a servant isn't so bad."

"You already have work?" Raviathan asked surprised.

"No, but it's that or the docks."

Raviathan shook his head as he pulled a pair of pants from the pile and looked them over. A seam had come loose. "I'd rather take the docks."

"I can't see you serving a human, that's for sure," Soris said with a laugh.

Raviathan would have asked how Soris could do that kind of work, but it was cruel to bring up bad memories. While hiding behind garbage, Raviathan had watched as Soris's parents were killed, burned in their home by guards during the last purge of the alienage. He had nightmares of Soris's mother's screams as she was kicked back into the burning house, dying far too slowly. He had held his cousin that day, tried to keep him from seeing and hearing what was going on, but there was only so much he could do, and he couldn't block out the smells of burning. His cousin had cried loudly for months on end, then years of silent tears. He switched subjects instead. "Do you know who Valendrian chose for you?"

With characteristic gloom, Soris recounted what he knew. "Her name is Valora. I haven't actually met her yet, but I heard her talking to Valendrian and Venri. She sounds like a dying mouse."

With a smirk Raviathan said, "Then I'll get you a cage as a wedding gift."

Soris barked out laughter before sobering. "Hey. That's terrible."

"Come on," Raviathan said trying to cajole his cousin into a better mood. "She can't be that bad." He picked up a shirt with a torn sleeve while Soris was still on his first sock. "Hurry up or we'll miss our own weddings."

Soris asked, "Do you know what you'll do for a living?"

Raviathan frowned, just a slight crease in his brow, "No. Alarith was asking earlier. Father refuses to let me be an herbalist openly. You know he won't let me practice medicine at all. Alarith said I should get an apprenticeship. Seems kind of late for that though." Apprenticeships usually started between twelve and fifteen, and he had been far too busy with his mother and aunt's training to even think of beginning one. The first years of an apprenticeship were also subsidized by the parents, which meant orphans were almost never able to secure one, and without a family to help in the first years, orphans were considered a difficult match at best.

"Then what?" Soris asked.

"Maybe it will be the docks then," Raviathan said. Now that the idea of marriage was settling into him, he wondered if that would be enough to support a family.

"Cousin," Soris said, the reproach clear in his voice.

"I don't mind the docks."

"It's not safe there," Soris replied.

"Oh come on Soris. Lots of elves work there."

Soris turned to fully face him, an undertone of anger in his otherwise placid voice. "You know that beggar Torries? His legs were smashed, and the dock workers just left him in an alley. It was days before his family found him and now he's a cripple."

Raviathan knew better than Soris about Torries situation but didn't say more about it. "Shems are shems everywhere. I'd rather have an enemy I know is an enemy, not like some rich shem who smiles with knives in his eyes while he yanks my ears."

"Hey now, I might resemble that remark."

Raviathan thought about his words and sighed. "You're right cousin. I'm sorry. I don't mean to put you or my father down." They finished the rest in silence.

In order to leave without the orphanage headmistress knowing, Raviathan and Soris slunk through the halls in an exaggerated espionage game. The younger orphans caught on, and Raviathan organized them like soldiers, to run diversions as he and Soris worked their way through the halls. His best little soldier, a red headed girl, got a wink and kiss on the head as the two left.

Soris burst out laughing when they were outside. "You had Venri spinning in circles. My cousin, the master tactician."

"You're not getting those kids in trouble, are you cousin?" asked a familiar voice he had known for as far back as he had memories.

Raviathan smiled as he put an arm around Shianni's shoulder. "Of course not," he said giving his cousin a kiss, and the three walked down the street.

"Hey Shianni," Soris greeted his cousin. Unlike Raviathan, these two looked like the first cousins they were. Shianni's short red hair, loose with a series of small ponytails, framed a cute face full of mischief. Soris's longer face tended to more seriousness. If he was any less pretty, he'd be downright glum. She and Soris both had pale skin as was typical of Ferelden elves but theirs appeared luminous in the indirect morning light. She had grey brown eyes with more of a shine than most elves and tended to change color depending on the light or what she wore. Her extraordinary eyes and red hair had been the source for a few crushes among the alienage boys, but she had turned them all away.

"Hey yourself," she said with laughter in her voice. "Skipping out on chores again?"

"No," Soris replied indignantly. "All finished for the day."

They made their way across the square to a vendor. Raviathan paid a copper bit for some twisted bread then they perched high on the never used scaffolding of an old apartment building overlooking the square. They sat partially in the shade of the building with their legs dangling over the side. Shianni held the bread between them as they ripped off pieces to eat.

Raviathan said, "Guess what Shianni. Soris is moving out of the orphanage."

She turned to Soris in surprise. "Really? Why?"

Soris looked down at the square. "I'm getting married." He told her what he knew about his bride and their plans for the next months of marriage before it was officiated by the Chantry.

She looked genuinely happy. "Congratulations Soris."

"You just want an excuse to drink," he muttered.

She laughed at him. "But weddings are so much fun. Music and dancing. This is a good time to get married too."

Soris looked at her, his face puckering. "Late winter? Why is that good?"

"Because we need something to distract us from the cold," she said.

Soris pulled off a hunk of bread eating with exaggerated irritation, but Raviathan laughed. "I'm glad you approve of winter weddings." She looked at him quizzically. He returned it with his own mischievous smile, "It's to be a double wedding."

She let out a little shriek and hugged him. "Oh cousin. I'm so happy for you." She nudged Soris, "Both of you."

Raviathan teased, "I think he might finally run off to join the Dalish."

"Not after that first time we tried." Soris scoffed. He turned serious at the thought. "Do you think they're real?"

"Alarith says they are," Raviathan replied. "He was rescued by a clan when he escaped from Tevinter."

Shianni narrowed her eyes at Soris. "You aren't thinking of really running off."

Soris pouted. "Honestly, I don't think they're real. Besides getting lost again? If I did try to run away I'd probably be run through by bandits."

"That's not true," Raviathan said and squeezed Soris' shoulder in sympathy. "You don't have any money. They wouldn't bother." Shianni slapped his leg, and they both laughed quietly at their gloomy cousin.

"Oh gee, thanks cousin," Soris said with mock scorn. "You seem to be taking this marriage well."

Raviathan shrugged. "I don't really want to get married, but my father put a lot of effort into arranging this. I thought about running too, but it seems cruel to abandon my bride. I can't imagine what it would be like to travel all that way to find someone would rather run than be with you."

"I think Elva's husband wishes he had run. To be stuck with her." Soris shuddered.

"That gargoyle. No matter what, our wives can't be worse than her," said Raviathan.

Shianni laughed. "That's the spirit. Better than gargoyles."

They chatted happily as they watched the elves below. A group of three men were getting drunk across the street from them and started singing comically about an affair with a mermaid. It was better than some of the drinking songs the three had heard over the years. Two children were carrying water from a nearby pump. Raviathan guessed they were either getting a bath or their mother was doing the washing. Wives carried their shopping back home for the evening meal. One had a bolt of deep wine red cloth, and he wondered if there was to be another wedding announcement.

From the scaffolding Raviathan could see the main gate of the alienage that led from Denerim's Market. Though the Market wasn't far, he almost never left the alienage. Excursions had been rare and notable, usually under the guidance of his mother or aunt. The Market was just through the gates, yet he could count the times he had visited it on one hand. From the gates a young woman with long pale blonde hair and a pack made her way timidly into the alienage. "I think that may be her."


	3. Married Life – The New Elf

Raviathan stood and picked his way carefully around his cousins before hopping down and hurrying over. Though her face and clothes were streaked with dirt from the road, her eyes puffy and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, Raviathan thought her very attractive. Her cornflower blue eyes were striking and she had flawless, pale skin beneath the dust of the road. Her ash blonde hair was braided, making her look groomed despite her long journey. Like all elves, she was willowy with long limbs, but there was a delicacy to her features that made her seem appear daintier than most elves. Her eyes widened as he approached. Raviathan said, "Excuse me. Are you Nesiara?"

"Ah. Yes. I am" She smiled, obviously weary from the journey and intimidated by a new city.

"I'm Raviathan." He took her pack, unable to keep from staring. This was his wife. He would wake up to the sight of her face for the rest of his days. Beautiful wasn't a adequate word for her. "If you would like, I can show you to our apartment. You must be tired."

She nodded as she studied his face just as intently as he studied hers. "That would be fine."

He wanted to say something more, but was at a loss. She was tired, that much was clear. Best not to disturb her until she rested? Make a joke? Tell her how pretty she was? He hadn't been flustered around a girl in years. In the end, he led her silently up the narrow stairs. There were a few calls from neighbors as he passed. Most noticed the new elf but said nothing yet. News would get around quickly enough anyway.

They entered the main room of his apartment, and Raviathan gestured at the comfortable chairs under the window. "Would you like some water? I can make tea, if you'd like."

She sighed, half collapsing into a chair. "Water is fine."

He brought her a glass of water, then headed up the ladder with her pack. Again, he was at a loss. Would she stay in the bunk bed with him? No. That was just silly. Would his father be bringing a new bed later? That seemed far too extravagant. He set her pack next on the floor near his trunk before heading back down.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked.

"Sure. If it's not a problem."

Poor girl, he thought. She must be exhausted. He wondered how far away Highever was. Except for the messengers who were trained, elves were unused to long journeys. They had no cause for endurance training in an alienage that encompassed little more than a few city blocks. Although she was worn out from her journey, her voice carried with confidence.

Raviathan added wood to the remaining embers in the stove. "No. No problem. Upstairs is the bedroom. There's some water in the tub if you would like to wash up." She took another sip of water before heading up the stairs.

Raviathan diced root vegetables, cauliflower, and potatoes to sauté, sliced in some dried meat for flavor, added a few spices and herbs he got from working in an old granny's garden, then put the pot on for tea. He mixed rose hips, chamomile, the last of the ginseng –which was an expensive import, and motherwort for her tea, hoping the mix would relax her after the long journey. The bread was a day old, but if he toasted it with a little garlic butter, it might not be so bad. Last, he added yogurt heavily spiced with garlic, ginger, cumin, pepper paste, and turmeric to the sautéing vegetables to make a sauce. Their yogurt was running low, so he reminded himself to buy some milk from Alarith to make more.

Nesiara climbed down the ladder and took her seat at the table. Water droplets darkened her dress in random patches. She looked refreshed, her natural beauty restored. He smiled as he set the meal down in front of her, then added two plates and forks. She took a bite then smiled in surprise. "You can cook."

"My grandmother worked in a lord's kitchen. She taught me some simple things." He shrugged, grinning, a little embarrassed by the complement. "I'm glad you like it."

They each ate a few more bites before she broke the silence. "Raviathan?"

"Everyone calls me Rav."

She watched him as they ate. "Rav. Are you nervous? About the wedding I mean."

He looked at her for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was gentle and calm, "I think I was until I saw you."

Her mouth twitched, and she looked back at her plate. He put his hand out on the table palm up. Nesiara studied his long fingers and the lines along his palm. His was a simple gesture, but the trust implicit in her acceptance would set the beginning of their relationship. It would mark their first touch. How she wished she had beautiful hands. His prominent wrist bone only further set off the masculine delicacy of his bones. They were the kind of beautiful hands artists were suppose to have. Hers were better suited to a weathered field hand or scarred blacksmith. She put her fork down looking at his hand before placing hers on top.

He felt the calluses that marked her hand. Raviathan gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he turned in his seat to give her his full attention. "Nesiara, I will try to be a worthy husband for you."

"With such a promise, I think I am lucky to have you as my match." She looked up at him, smiling, a light blush adding color to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Though fatigued by the journey and stress of the situation, Nesiara didn't strike him as weak. Raviathan wasn't sure, but he sensed loyalty and a hint of feistiness that intrigued him. He smiled, kissing her hand then releasing it so she could continue her meal.

"It does seem awkward, doesn't it." He wanted to make a comment about the more intimate part of their marital arrangements, but he didn't think he could pull off a joke without sounding like a total ass. Thinking she was probably most nervous about that part, he decided to go for silly and disarming so they could get some common ground. "You're going about your life, and then one day, all of a sudden, there you are, getting married. I knew I was coming of age, but it was still a surprise. What about you?"

"My parents were open about it. They told me about all the potential matches they were seriously considering."

"Oh," Raviathan said. Had his father been looking for more than one? His earlier feeling of having this marriage rushed returned. At least now he had an idea of who his father had chosen.

Nesiara was watching him, a slight disappointment pulling her warmth away. She said quietly, "You didn't know much then I take it."

"I only found out about our match this morning." It wasn't her fault, so Raviathan tried to keep his voice even. Whatever the circumstances, this was to be his wife. Trying to make the best of it, he forced a little levity into his voice. "I'm sorry I don't have anything prepared for you really. Now that I can see how beautiful you are, I'm going to be hard pressed to find an adequate gift."

She smiled as she looked back down at her plate and took another bite. "You're right. This is awkward. If I had known you had eyes as exotic as that, I would have tried to match them with glass. Stone that color is too rare."

"A gift?" Now he really felt like a heel. "I'm sorry. If I had known…"

"It's alright." She smiled, revealing a genuineness that melted away his remaining resentment. "You have until the official wedding, and this way it isn't just a random gift because you're meeting a stranger. It'll mean more because it will be for me."

Raviathan put down his fork, took her hand, and kissed it. "You make me feel very lucky." Rough and strong, her hands were shaped by years of discipline for her craft. Her hand was cold, so he held it in both of his to warm. "I'm sorry. I'm taking you from your meal. I want you to know Nesiara, I really do feel lucky."

"Well," she said, her hand gripping his, "we will make an interesting pair. Dark and pale."

"Pale," Raviathan said in mock affront. "Fair and flaxen."

"It's like we're pieces from a game of queens." Raviathan cocked his head, unfamiliar with the game. "You've never played?"

"Never heard of it." He let go of her hand so she could continue eating. In between bites she explained about the thirty two pieces and the board. The details of the game sounded complicated, with six different types of piece, each with a different movement quality. "It seems like you like this game."

"It's all about strategy," she said, her eyes narrowed as if imparting a great wisdom. "You have to defend the king, the most limited of all pieces, but still the most important. Take the king, and you win the game. But it's the queen who has all the power."

Raviathan's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Is this some comment on our marriage?"

"You still get to be the important one," she said.

"Oh well then. Too bad I'm so limited. I'll never be able to outmaneuver my queen."

She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to suppress her laughter until she swallowed. "I'll have to remember to write my sister about that."

"You have a sister?"

"An older one. She's married and lives in West Hills. I also have a much younger little brother. You?"

"Just my father, two close cousins, and an aunt on my father's side. She works as a handmaiden for a noble woman, so we almost never see her. I have more distant relatives, lots of cousins from my father's side. About half of them with red hair."

"Dark skin with red hair?" Nesiara squinted as she tried to picture it. "Odd combination."

Raviathan grinned. "Only Alarith the shopkeep here looks like that. You'll find out quickly that I take after my mother. She was from Tevinter. Dark skin, black hair, and she had a story about how we got our eyes. If my queen can outmaneuver me, I'll tell it to you."

"There's a challenge," she said smiling. "If you take after her, she must have been quite the beauty."

"Oh," Raviathan started with a hand up, "you have no idea. Ask anyone in the alienage and they'll all admit she was extraordinary. I actually look more like her sister, but I have my mother's eyes. But you said there were many matches your parents were considering. It must have been hard to choose when you couldn't meet any of us." Raviathan wasn't sure, but Nesiara seemed uncomfortable with the subject.

"Well, my parents still chose. And there weren't so awfully many."

Had she wanted someone else then? Or maybe left someone back in Highever? Raviathan was surprised by how much that stung. It would have disgraced her parents to have their child force her own match. Worse if it was from their own alienage. Though rare, such couples either left to find employment with a lord who would house them or ran off to find the Dalish. The couple wouldn't be exiled, but after such a scandal, life in the alienage would be uncomfortable.

Sensing that she had put him off, she took his hand. "Rav?"

He turned back to her, wondering at her earnestness. Though he had expected an arranged marriage since he was able to understand what marriage was, and he had heard many other elves describe the experience, nothing matched the surrealness of meeting a person for the first time and understanding she was his wife. Would they live forty, fifty, sixty years together? The time seemed to draw out in front of him. Would she resent him, wishing she had another? Would she grow to care for him? Would resentment at the marriage cause a distance to grow until they were cold? "Ness. I want to be a good husband. If there's any reason you want to call this off…"

"No," she said quickly, which only made Raviathan wonder more.

There was more going on with her than just the long journey. Patience, his aunt had told him. Whatever was bothering her, she would not be able to hold it in for long. Now that he was looking, he could see it under the surface like a rushing river under a thin layer of ice. Either he or his father would learn soon enough. He smiled and squeezed her hand. "It's alright, Ness. I just didn't want you to feel stuck if this isn't what you wanted. As far as I can tell, I'm getting the better part of this match."

"You're sweet," she said, relaxing. She tried for a flirtatious smile, "And you're even more handsome than I heard."

Raviathan smiled back trying to keep the uncertainty from touching his expression. Why was she trying so hard? It had not occurred to him until then that her reputation might be tarnished and kept hidden from his father. If that was true, it did not matter to him. Maybe the problem was with her family. Be patient.

When they finished with the meal he cleaned the dishes, shooing her away when she tried to help. Instead, she sat by the window with her tea, the aloe plant creating long spikes of shade across her dress. He gave her a fresh glass of water and took the second chair. She smiled as the sun glinted through the window to make, her hair glow in the gloom. "I'm sure you are told this all the time, but you really are beautiful." He reached out to touch her soft hair.

She almost giggled but was too tired to manage more than a shy laugh. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Who wouldn't? You must have left many a broken heart in Highever."

She laughed. It wasn't some coy, fake thing, but real laughter that made him warm inside. Then she probably had not left some romance behind. "I'm sure to get some evil looks from the maidens here."

He smiled, taking her hands. He looked down at them. He liked the feel of their strength and calluses from work. He ran his thumb over the top. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. If you need me to be patient, I will be."

She bit her lip. "Um. Yes. I appreciate that." She looked down. "But, I don't want you to be too patient."

"Then how about this. I set the pace for this," he squeezed her hand then massaged it between both of his, "but you tell me if you need me to slow down."

Her eyes gleamed in the light though she still looked tired. "Sounds fair."

He smiled and scooted his chair closer so he could hold her hands easily. "How was your journey here? I'm surprised you didn't have an escort."

"Yes. I made it all right," Nesiara said.

He could see she was trying to hide her embarrassment. What was the story there? He bit the inside of his lip and decided to ask something else that might not be so sensitive. "Um, that's good. Then tell me about Highever." Her already pale skin turned ashen. "What happened?" he asked. She squirmed in her chair. He said in a soft, low voice he used to calm children, "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

She continued to hold herself for a moment before blurting out, "The Teyrn family, the Couslands, were all slaughtered."

"What?" was all he could manage.

Once she started, the story rushed out. "They were all killed in their beds by Arl Howe. He's taken over Highever. The Couslands were good rulers, and now everything is chaos. The local Banns loyal to the Couslands have been run off but some have tried to take the city back. There has been fighting in the streets, and guards everywhere, and talks of a purge. Howe has a reputation of being hard on elves. We've all been afraid. Another traveler told me the purge did happen just after my family left."

Raviathan put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. Why doesn't your family come here? They'd be safe."

"They went to West Hills where my sister lives. The dowry money is what's helped them leave. We had a shop in the alienage. They had to leave so much behind." She looked down as a tear escaped. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say anything just yet, not like this, but… it's been so hard. I've been so worried."

Raviathan closed his eyes. She needed him to accept her so her family could keep the dowry money. His heart went out to the poor girl. Maker, that must have been painful in so many ways. No wonder she had been so willing to get along with him. He sat back, feeling like a cad. She looked up at him in alarm, which affirmed his worry. "Ness. I am terribly sorry for what's happened with your family." She tried to take his hand, but he held her wrists. "We'll work something out with them. I promise. We want everyone safe, alright? Maybe in time they could pay back part with another dowry from a better match. I'm sure my father would be reasonable about it. "

"Rav." He looked up to see tears, and he wanted to reach up and wipe them away. "The dowry has been paid. It's alright."

He winced. "No. I can convince my father not to hold the dowry against you. You shouldn't be forced into a marriage like this."

She sniffed. "It's okay."

He looked at her, pained. "Ness. You're not a slave to be bought. If you want out of this, I won't be upset. It'll be okay. We'll work something out."

She freed one hand to touch his face, but he caught her wrist again. "You'll stay here with us until your parents get settled. From there we'll figure out what to do."

"You've been so kind to me. What makes you think I won't be happy here?"

He sighed. "I know they panicked. You could get a better husband. I'm sure there would be lots of opportunity for you with someone else."

"Rav. I want this marriage."

He frowned at his feet as he thought. Her parents were no longer secure now that they were refugees in another alienage and had lost their shop. Her options were more limited now that her family could not argue for better. He held her wrists, his thumb lightly stroking over her fine, light skin. "Ness, I'm so sorry this happened to you. We can wait until your parents are better positioned to find you a good husband. We'll take care of you until then, alright? Don't worry. It'll be fine."

"Please, Rav. This was almost finalized before the attack. It just made everything happen sooner."

Clear, concerned eyes met hers. "Are you sure?"

She freed her wrist to touch his face. When he moved to catch it again she surprised him by slapping his hand away. She said surely, "Yes. I feel honored to be your wife."

He kissed her wrist and held her hands in his. "Ness. I think you can do better."

She kissed him. It was small, just a peck, but it was their first kiss. He smiled sadly. "You don't have to. I'm sorry I pushed before. I didn't know."

"Rav," she huffed to his renewed surprise, "would you stop being stubborn. I want you to kiss me."

Looking into her resolute, deep blue eyes, he was certain he liked her now. Just as he thought—a little feistiness to add some spice. Sweet, but not weak. He gave her a saucy grin. "I don't know. Maybe I need a little proof." She grinned in return. She kissed him with more passion but kept it sweet.

He smiled ruefully. "That's why you didn't have an escort."

She nodded. He cocked his head studying her sharply. There were still shadows in her eyes. "Did something happen on the way here?"

Nesiara took a long breath. "There were some highway men. My father told me to hide if I ever felt that there was danger." She closed her eyes and swallowed. "I was so scared."

He scooted his chair forward so he could hold her. She leaned into his chest, grateful to be safe again. It had been such a relief to see Denerim. She began, "There were five of them on the Imperial Highway catching people who were leaving the unrest. I was behind a cart so they didn't see me. There was a man who couldn't pay so they threw him off the road. His wife was screaming, and one of them took her behind the barricade. I ran back as fast as I could and down the nearest slope. I hid in the forest and only moved at night. I didn't go back to the highway until I saw Denerim."

"Oh, Ness." His voice was tight. "I'm so sorry. You must be exhausted after all that. I'm such an idiot. Do you want to lie down for a bit?"

She continued to hold on to him, surprised by the hardness of his body. "Maybe later. Right now it feels really good to talk with someone."

He rubbed her back. "Anything you want. Would you like more tea or something else?"

She moved out of his arms with a sigh. "More tea?"

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Coming right up." He added some wood to the stove and herbs to her cup before hopping upstairs with surprising agility. He bounced down holding an ornate brush in his hand. He smiled as she looked at it. "It was my mother's. Have a seat here," he indicated one of the dining chairs. She moved over, frowning in puzzlement. He stepped behind her and undid the braid with nimble fingers.

It was odd having a man do this. Normally only the women in her family would play with her hair. The kettle whistled as the braid was undone and her cup was refreshed. He kissed the top of her head and started singing softly as he brushed her hair. Nesiara closed her eyes as she listened to his voice. It was wonderful, so rich and resonant, full of nuance. All the tension seemed to drain as his voice soothed her. He stopped only to say, "Drink your tea before it gets cold."

"Please keep singing. Your voice is so beautiful."

He leaned down to kiss her head, his fingers trailing through her hair. "My mother was trained as an entertainer. She taught me music. Singing and such. She had the most beautiful voice you could imagine." He returned to singing as he gently brushed her hair. The soft, rhythmic scrape of the brush brought memories of childhood when she was too young to fully appreciate the care her family gave her When her tea was finished he replaited her hair and led them back to the more comfortable chairs under the window.

She smiled shyly. "I've never had a man do that before."

He shrugged. "I did that all the time for my mother and aunt. It made me feel good that I could care for them a little." She leaned over and kissed him, feeling genuinely happy. His sweetness was completely unexpected after all the stories she had heard. One of the girls who had moved from Denerim had told her he was the easily the best looking man in the city, but that didn't prepare her for how exotic he was. He grinned, and she was struck by charming his smile was. "I just wanted to get to know you better. Maybe you should decide what to tell me next." He went back to holding her hands.

"How about my family?" Nesiara offered.

"Sounds good," said Raviathan as he kissed her hand. He watched her intently for a moment, looking like a cat getting ready to pounce. What she had planned to say was foremost in her mind, but that captured her complete attention. She watched him back, wondering what this boy was going to do. Though he moved quickly, there was great tenderness in the way he caressed her face and in the kiss he gave her. She wondered if she felt so warm because this was to be her husband, if it was because a near stranger was so intimate, that this intimacy need not be hidden but was expected, or if this was a promise of her future.

Whatever the reason, her lips parted willingly. He deepened the kiss, soft lips feeling exquisite on hers. His hand was on her waist pulling her forward, and she was embarrassed by the tremble of warmth that traveled down the inside of her legs. She felt caught between what was expected from her as a wife and worry that he would not want someone who gave in so quickly. His lips left, but he remained close, just a breath apart. "Too fast?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"Good." He kissed her again, his hand traveling around her back. She knew then that if he wanted, she would be sharing a bed with him tonight. What would it be like to have him see her body? If he wanted to take her upstairs now, she would have made only the barest of protests. Again, she wondered at the hardness of his body, the easy strength in which he held her and pulled her close. When he ended the kiss, she had been transferred to his lap. There was a naturalness in the way her arms moved around his neck. He gently brushed her hair back, and to her astonishment, let his finger slowly caress down the long slope of her ear. The hair on her arms raised at the touch, and she knew she must be blushing by the sudden heat that flashed through her.

Raviathan kissed one of her bare shoulders lightly. "Even your shoulders are red."

"Ah," she started, wondering what to say.

"I'm taking advantage of you, Ness," he said kissing her shoulder again.

"You are?"

"Oh yes," he said letting his lips brush across her shoulders and to the corner of her jaw. His voice was soft and dark as it caressed her earlobe. "You're tired, had a difficult journey, worried. I said I'd be a good husband, but I'm already breaking my promise." His lips caressed lightly up her ear, and she shivered.

She expected him to start nibbling her ear, giving all the wonderful sensations that would cause, but instead he sat back in the chair with his arms loose around her waist. An odd thrill fluttered in her stomach when she realized she could feel his arousal pressing up against the bottom of her thigh. "Oh," she said not sure if she should be embarrassed or offended. "I… um. I can feel you."

"I like you, Ness," Raviathan said calmly. She was startled by his confidence. He wasn't the least embarrassed by any of it. His fine boned fingers stroked her hair, and his gaze went dreamy as he watched his fingers run lightly through it. "If you want to be my wife, which so far you've said yes to, you're going to have to put up with some of my more particular requests." He smiled gently at her and slumped back against the side of the chair, his fingers still trailing through her hair. "But not to worry. We're both still fully dressed."

There were no apologies for his response to her and no attempt to hide it. She found it strangely refreshing. "Raviathan Tabris. I think I'm going to be marring a scoundrel."

He grinned at her, the smile filling his clear blue and emerald eyes. "Good thing you're a queen. You're going to need all that strategy."

She kissed him back making sure to press against him and was delighted when he made an involuntary little moan. It was okay to like the feel of his desire. What will it be like to be with him? So far she hadn't been all that impressed by sex though her experience was limited to only one other elf. But Rav created more passion in a single kiss than Bennly ever had. She ended the kiss and sat back to watch him, rather enjoying his look of calm longing. What would it be like to be married to him?

There was a danger here, and she couldn't afford to forget that. The concerns about his reputation were real, but she needed this match to work. Her betrothed had been wonderfully kind about the dowry, had been nothing but sweet, but it was too important for her family to rely on those assurances. The hurt returned then, but she put it out of her mind as best she could. Concern entered his eyes at her brief change of expression, and she was again taken by how observant he was. Before he could ask, Nesiara started, "I have a sister in West Hills. She married a servant of Arl Wulff. When we were growing up, we fought like cats."

Raviathan leaned back as he listened, a faint smile on his lips. She talked about her family and friends, moments from her past. Her tales included the time she made her family adopt an abandoned kitten, and when she saw King Maric in the square when he visited the Couslands. When she said something that was particularly cute, he raised her hand up to kiss the back of her fingers but otherwise held it to his chest.

It wasn't until the sun set low enough to hit his eyes that he realized how the time had passed. He sat up, "Maker's blood! I'm sorry, Ness. I was suppose to check in with the shop keep."

He helped her up then rose to leave, but she kept his hand. "Do you want to come with me? You can see more of the alienage." He moved back to stroke her cheek. "Or you can stay here since you're tired. I have some books. Maybe you'd like to rest?"

"I'd like to go with you." She rose up on her toes and kissed him. He smiled and held her tight taking full advantage of the invitation. His lips parted hers as the kiss grew more sensual. He stopped, reluctant to part, his gazed lingering on Nesiara's shining eyes. Their blue depths caught the low light of the setting sun, bright in otherwise darkening room.

"Follow me." Before he opened the door he turned to give her another kiss.

On the next landing one of his neighbors called out, "Hey, Rav."

"Hey, Trean." They stopped when a stooped and elderly man hobbled to the open door. He had kindly wrinkles and light graying hair. A young boy, about three or so, was playing with a little rag doll and wooden horse on the floor behind them, but walked over to see Raviathan and the new elf. Raviathan wrapped an arm around Nesiara's waist so they stood hip to hip. He was practically glowing when he said, "This is Nesiara. My wife."

Trean's bushy eyebrows rose up, and he smiled affectionately. "Wife, huh?" He reached out to take Nesiara's hand. "You're lucky, Rav. She is a pretty one." Raviathan squeezed her waist. The elder's grip was surprisingly strong given his age. "I'm Trean. You'll find me about, looking after my grandson here. Let me know if you need anything." The boy had a hand clutched on Raviathan's pants.

"Thank you, ser," she smiled when he squeezed her hand and let go.

"Please excuse us," Raviathan said. "I need to check in with Alarith."

"Oh, of course, of course," said Trean. "Come by for tea soon."

"Tea soon," said the child.

"We will," he replied. He looked down at the boy, his slender fingers playing with the child's fine hair. "You will join us of course."

"Tea, tea, tea," the child said. Trean chuckled and extracted the boy's hand from Raviathan's pants. The boy started to cry a bit but was easily distracted by the wooden horse.

As they left Raviathan whispered, "Now that he knows, the rest of the building will know by tonight."

Nesiara laughed softly. "We had one like that back home. An old widow woman who always wore black though her husband had died twenty five years ago. Swear her to secrecy, and the whole alienage knew in an hour." Raviathan led the way through various halls and corridors then down two more flights of stairs, never releasing her hand. Nesiara shook her head. "I think I'm going to get lost."

"Hmm," was his only reply as the descended another flight. He didn't release her hand as they made their way quickly to the shop.

Nesiara took in her new home as they jogged down the street. This alienage was a little bigger than the one she had lived in, but in Highever the streets had a cobblestone base under the accumulated dirt. The earthen roads made the Denerim alienage feel dirtier but also less claustrophobic as the barriers didn't press in over their heads. While the walls of the Denerim alienage were every bit as solid, there was something more permanent in the oppressive stone in Highever. The buildings here had more stories on average, but the disrepair was the same: dilapidated buildings that were sometimes just boards hastily nailed together, refuse in the alleys, mangy rats and dogs wandering about. Only the faces were different.

"Hey, Alarith," Raviathan called. The alienage's general store was moderately busy, with wives picking over the remaining produce and two men talking in a corner.

"You're late," Alarith said, but was smiling when he saw the young elf holding hands with a new beauty.

"Sorry. This is Nesiara, my wife." Every head in the store turned at the declaration. Nesiara cast her eyes down as she was suddenly the object of scrutiny. She wondered again at the rumors, but whatever the truth, it did seem he was well known in the alienage. The looks were not hostile, but there was a definite interest in her. Raviathan continued on as if he did not notice, "This is Alarith."

Alarith said, "Nice to meet you. Nesiara is it?"

Nesiara answered, "Yes. How do you do?"

"I do fine. I must say, Rav is lucky to get a wife as pretty as you."

She laughed. "He told me that already. I'm feeling pretty lucky too."

"Nervous about the big day?"

Nesiara squeezed Raviathan's hand. "More excited than nervous. Rav has been nothing but sweet."

"Sweet, huh," Alarith eyed Raviathan skeptically. "Normally I wouldn't ask, but considering how pretty you are, has he been a gentleman?"

Nesiara blushed, which made Alarith narrow his eyes at the two of them. Raviathan frowned and squared his shoulders, his arm wrapping around Nesiara. "She's my wife. Mind your own business."

Alarith cracked a grin. "So she is. Glad you're finally growing up young man."

"Do you have an errand for me to run or not?" Raviathan asked.

Distracted annoyance replaced Alarith's good humor, and he beckoned them back around the counter where they could speak more privately. "I finally got word from the supplier. There won't be any eggs from him for a while. The armies have been called to the south, so food prices are going to soar."

Raviathan's shoulders slumped. As if winters weren't bad enough. "Seems an odd time for war."

Alarith crossed his arms and his mouth quirked to the side as he thought. "It's going to be tough, alright. I've got a decent storage of dry goods to stretch things out, but that won't last more than a month or two tops. Here's hoping that the fish don't go to war." He shook his head. "I don't get it. Gravie told me south, but unless the King wants to go after some Chasind miscreants, what's the point?"

"Chasind?" Nesiara asked.

"They're the barbarian tribes far to the south," Alarith said. "It's been one of the mildest winters I've ever known. Don't know why they'd be making trouble or why the banns can't handle it."

Raviathan shrugged, not really caring about the reason there would be shortages. Knowing why didn't change the fact that lean times were ahead. Nesiara said cautiously, "Not east then?"

Alarith shrugged. "Could be he was wrong. I would have thought if anything it would be the Orlesians."

"Howe sacked Highever," Nesiara said.

Alarith straitened in surprise. "Howe? Did what?"

"Is that important?" Raviathan asked. "Doesn't change that new suppliers are needed."

"It changes a lot," Alarith said. "If the armies are going south, most of the Bannorn will be supplying them. I was hoping to find something north, but if Howe is rampaging around while the King is off chasing south tails, will get little help there."

"What about imports," Raviathan asked. "I know they're more expensive, but if the armies are driving prices up…"

"That's part of the problem," Alarith said. "Howe now controls two major ports for trade. That's a lot of power for one man to have."

Aside from the issue, Raviathan was surprised that Alarith was confiding in him and that he had not gotten a lecture after all. He squeezed Nesiara's shoulder and held her close. Her skin was cool where it was bare, and he wanted to let his fingers roam over the fine texture. "Aside from selling fishing poles, all you can do is find other farmers willing to sell. I'll let Valendrian know we're in for a rough winter."

"Fishing poles aren't a bad idea," Alarith said. "Anyway, I shouldn't worry you with this today." He leaned forward giving Nesiara a light kiss on the cheek. "Welcome to Denerim, Nesiara. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

Nesiara smiled and nodded in thanks. Raviathan squeezed her hand. "If it's okay, I'm going to show Nesiara around."

"Be back tonight to clean up," said Alarith.

"Okay." They headed out under the open watch of the elves. There was an excited buzz of conversation as they left. Just who was this elf she was marrying? "This is the square and vhenadahl. That platform over there is where we hold all of our celebrations, including our wedding," he added, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Alarith has been really kind to me. I make a little money doing the books, running errands and cleaning, and he lets me read anything in the store, and we get a big discount on food." The square was still full of children and a few gossiping women milling about. Raviathan led her to the stage to sit on the edge and watch the square. "Our hahren is Valendrian. His house is just over there."

Nesiara said with a coy smile, "So he'll be the one to do our handfasting?"

He grinned, ducking his head. "I suppose. You're ready for that then?"

Raviathan had been introducing her to everyone as his wife. To Nesiara, the day felt unreal. Looking around, Nesiara saw that this alienage was different than the alienage in Highever, yet very much the same. The streets were still littered with children and gossips. The muddy roads were still lined with the same patchwork of buildings. It was all familiar, only this place came with a different arrangement and different names. It must be strange indeed to learn that you were betrothed the day you met your spouse. Nesiara was grateful that she had known about her upcoming marriage for the last month as her parents decided over potential husbands. At least her parents had given her warning. She had heard Raviathan was handsome, but the stories didn't do him justice.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Raviathan waved to a red headed woman about his age. As she walked up with a wide grin, he said, "That's my cousin Shianni. She's been my best friend as far back as I can remember. Hey, Shianni. This is Nesiara."

"Hey, cousin," the read head said, her smile filled with a bright interest. Nesiara liked her immediately. There was an openness about her that Nesiara found attractive. "So this is the little wife? How are you, Nesiara?"

"Fine," she said.

"Don't let the brave smile fool you," said Raviathan. "She's had an awful time of it." Raviathan recounted what happened at Highever and her journey to Denerim.

Shianni's jaw dropped open as she heard. "By the Maker. I'm so sorry, Ness. And then on top of it you have to deal with this idiot."

"Hey!" said Raviathan.

Nesiara laughed. "He's been very sweet."

"Has he now," said Shianni with a mischievous glint in her eyes. The two shared squished faces of playful annoyance. Shianni did notice how the two hadn't stopped holding hands yet. So quickly, she thought a little sadly.

"Just wait until you get married, cousin," threatened Raviathan. "I'll have to make sure he's ready for that temper of yours."

"I don't have a temper," Shianni retorted.

Raviathan whispered in Nesiara's ear but loud enough for Shianni to hear, "Never trust a red headed woman."

Nesiara laughed again when Shianni slapped Raviathan's knee. Nesiara said, "You two don't look at all alike."

Raviathan said, "Her mother is my aunt, so we're first cousins. That's what I meant when I said I take after my mom. My other cousin Soris is also pale. We'll probably have a double wedding with him."

"Oh?" asked Nesiara.

"I met his wife," said Shianni brightly. "Her ears are huge and the type that folds back."

"Huh," said Raviathan, wondering at his cousin's lack of tact. Normally that was the type of comment she would have scolded another elf for. Though trends came and went, that type of ear structure was considered unattractive by most. Of the three present, all of their ears were sky pointed, the more attractive of the two styles. Large ears, unless they were excessive, were mostly up to personal preference as with eye or hair color, but as long as they weren't too small, there wasn't much difference elves paid to them. Small eared elves might be picked on as self hating elves though they had no control over their biology. Some mothers who suspected their child's ears were not up to standards would pull them to keep up appearances. That irritated Raviathan to no end when he had to care for little cracks in the babies' sensitive ears. Bad enough shems pulled their ears in spite. Raviathan hated that elves would hurt their own babies for the most senseless reason. Raviathan's shapely ears were longer than usual and frequently poked out of his long hair. As far as he was concerned, Nesiara had the most alluring set of points. "Soris told me she had a high voice."

"She does," agreed Shianni. "She's sort of quiet but really nice." Raviathan's lips quirked and he looked down. Shianni eyed him. "Out with it."

"Um, it's kind of mean," he said trying not to smile.

"What," Shianni demanded.

"Um," Raviathan hedged a bit. "He's been calling her Mouse."

The two women looked down with their own embarrassed smiles. "That is mean," agreed Nesiara.

Shianni just shrugged, and again Raviathan wondered at her callousness. Deciding it would be best to talk to her in private and not in front of his wife, Raviathan changed the subject. "Do you know much about dancing, Ness?"

She shook her head. "If your dancing is anything like your singing, I think I'm going to be hopelessly outclassed."

Shianni's face fell a little at that statement though she tried to hide it, and Raviathan suddenly understood. He hopped down, grabbing his cousin by the waist, and hauled her up. She laughed, startled, but he was on the platform pulling her to her feet. "Come on, cousin. Let's show her one my mother taught us."

The two of them stepped to the middle of the platform. They stood facing Nesiara with their hands clasped. Raviathan started with a thump thadda thump thump thump of boots hitting the platform hard. Shianni echoed the steps, then the two moved in simultaneous quick pace, their foot falls creating a beat that could be set to music. A few of the elves gathered around to watch, their claps keeping time. Nesiara clapped with them, delighted with the display. Shianni and Raviathan finished with a flourish to the applause of the small crowd, and Raviathan pivoted to spin Shianni around. She laughed and hugged him tight. "You always know just what to do, cousin," she whispered to him.

He kissed her, his hand buried in her bright red hair. "Shianni, you know I'm always going to love you."

"I know," she said a little sadly. "It's just… you and Soris in the same day. At least you're staying here," she said taking his hand and leading him back to Nesiara.

Nesiara took Shianni's other hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "You dance beautifully."

Shianni already had a faint flush from the fast paced dance, but her color deepened. "Rav's mother knew more dances than you could believe. She taught us, but I never had a head for music like my cousin."

"So true," Raviathan said. "She sounds like a cat in heat."

Shianni's mouth opened in shock then she punched him. Raviathan laughed at her, grabbing her wrists when she tried to do more. "You ass," she said trying to free her hands.

Nesiara scooted back, laughing at the two. Shianni wrestled Raviathan on his back, putting her weight on top of him. Raviathan said, "I'll toss you off the stage."

"No you won't," Shianni returned, struggling unsuccessfully in his grip.

"Yes I will. You'll land in mud. Get your dress all messy."

"Ha! You liar. There isn't any mud."

"There's always mud," Raviathan said. He leveraged her off then rolled with her across the stage. In the confusion of her skirts, Shianni found he had an arm around her waist and was hauling her up and over his shoulder. "Off we go, sweet cousin."

"No!" Shianni shrieked, her breath catching in laugher. "Ness, help!" She held out her hands, and Nesiara rose quickly to grab them.

Raviathan pretended not to notice as he dragged the two struggling women across the stage to the stairs. "Cousin, have you gained weight?" he asked slapping her rump. "You're a lot heavier than I remember."

"Let me go," Shianni gasped. "I give, I give."

Raviathan put her down, and she promptly punched him in the shoulder. "See," he said to Nesiara. "Never trust a red headed woman."

She was about to renew the fight, but Raviathan hugged her tightly and kissed her, and everything was forgiven. "Ness, are you sure you want to marry him?"

"Yes," Nesiara said happily.

The smile Raviathan gave her made butterflies flutter in her chest. He took Shianni's hand and spun her away. The red head moved lightly, ending the move on one toe with one arm extended gracefully. "Here, Ness," Raviathan said. "Let me show you how to dance."

"Oh no. I couldn't."

"We'll start simply." Raviathan put an arm around her waist and clapped one hand in his.

Shianni put her arms in a similar position as if she had an invisible partner and swirled around the stage making time by repeating, "One two three, one two three."

"It's just like that," Raviathan said gently. "Just follow me."

Though Nesiara was nervous, Raviathan moved his partner confidently around the stage, his eyes never leaving her. At the end of each series of steps that completed a long half circle, Raviathan led her to the next so she swirled around. "I'm going to get dizzy."

"No you won't," Raviathan said. "Keep your eyes on me." They often came close to the edge of the stage, and Nesiara worried that they would fall off especially since Raviathan never seemed to look at anything except her, but they never did. The steps got easier as she became familiar with them, and she found herself relaxing. She stopped thinking about the stage or the steps. For the first time she wasn't embarrassed for staring at her betrothed. Even Shianni's voice melted into the background. The two of them spun about, and in the swirling background of brown and grey buildings, blue sky, and green leaves, her betrothed stayed constant.

Laughter brought them to a halt. It was deep and carried through the square easily. "So I see you're celebrating early."

Raviathan jumped down and hugged the old man. For all of Valendrian's years, he was still a powerful figure in the alienage. They kissed on the cheek as the two women made their way off the stage to gather under the vhenadahl. "I have a lot to celebrate," Raviathan said grinning widely. He took his bride's hand. "This is Nesiara of Highever. Ness, this is our hahren, Valendrian."

"Indeed," Valendrian said warmly to the young woman, taking her free hand in both of his. "It is a pleasure to welcome you into our alienage."

"Thank you, hahren," Nesiara said freeing her hand from Raviathan long enough to embrace the old elf, and he patted the young woman's back affectionately. "We don't have a vhenadahl in our alienage. It's so pretty."

Raviathan and Shianni both looked scandalized. Shianni's voice was full of pity and astonishment, "You don't? How can you not have a vhenadahl? I wouldn't even feel elven without it."

"Now, Shianni," Valendrian said, "don't make the girl self-conscious. You have better manners than that."

"But, hahren," Shianni said. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Highever lost their tree many years ago," Valendrian said gravely. "It is a sorrow I do not think they recognize."

"Hahren?" Raviathan asked as he looked at the elder in concern.

"They have not sought to replace it, even after all these years." Troubled by his elder's uncharacteristically melancholy manner, Raviathan reached out to hold the elder elf's shoulder. "Oh, not to worry," Valendrian said. "I just hope it doesn't become a trend. Even when we have hard times, we cannot forget what little heritage is left to us."

"Speaking of hard times," Raviathan said. "I have news." He and Nesiara explained about Highever, and Raviathan finished with Alarith's news and concerns for food prices and availability.

Valendrian took in the news with grim resolve. "Thank you for alerting me. At least this way we can make preparations. I'll meet with Alarith soon, but…" he said, his eyes twinkled in the late sun, "we shouldn't forget our joys either. Are you ready for your handfasting then?"

"Yes, hahren," Nesiara said reaching for Raviathan's hand.

"We both are," he affirmed squeezing her hand back then took the formal hold for the ceremony that entwined their fingers, a symbol of their entwining lives.

"And you will act as witness?" Valendrian asked Shianni. With a proud lift of her chin, Shianni agreed. Raviathan winked at his cousin, glad for her change of heart. Valendrian began the informal ceremony that would be the start of their marriage. He lowered his head, adopting a serious attitude, and the three younger elves did the same. "We have not always been a free people. Much of our heritage and language have been lost or taken from us. But we stay strong. We are elves, the first people, the decedents of immortals. Nothing can take that away. Now we rekindle that heritage as we witness the forging of a new generation. Our strength is in our ties, our bonds of marriage and family, for these are the bonds that set us free. They give us continuity from one generation to the next, and unite us as kin. For only when we stand together are we free."

Valendrian placed his fingertips to the bowed foreheads of the bride and groom. "A pairing of our young is a sacred thing. It is in you that we place the faith of our future. From this day forth, it is your duty to honor and respect your fellow child of immortals. Hold your hands fast so that you may walk your path together and not be lost." At this he wove a red ribbon around their wrists. "Children of immortals, it is time for you to take your place, to take on the responsibility of families as others have before you, to add your voice and strength to your kin. Though the decedents of immortals, you are no longer children in the eyes of your fellows. As hahren of Denerim, I pronounce Raviathan and Nesiara husband and wife."

The new couple kissed under the shifting shadows of the vhenadahl's leaves. A few elves who had stopped to watch applauded the couple. Shianni hugged them both wiping away a tear she knew her cousin would tease her later for, then Valendrian did the same. One of the elves called out, "She's a beauty, Rav. How'd you get so lucky?"

Raviathan turned to see Taedor walking up. Raviathan gave him a one armed hug since his hand was still tied to Nesiara's. "Don't know. I guess the Maker was smiling on me. Have you heard from your brothers?"

"Not yet," Taedor said, his brow furrowing in worry. At Nesiara's curious look, Taedor said, "My brothers, Pol and Jerik, ran off to find the Dalish a few weeks ago. They woke up early, took some food, and left a note."

"May the Maker light their way," Nesiara said. Some elves were fascinated by the Dalish, but the stories just scared her. The danger of life outside the alienage had only become more firmly fixed in her mind after her journey to Denerim.

Raviathan made the introductions as more elves came around to meet their newest member. Nesiara met scores of elves and struggled to remember all the new names and faces. Raviathan escorted her around the alienage, the main street and all the winding paths and alleys. Though Nesiara wasn't sure, it seemed she was getting more interest than the other brides and grooms who had moved to Highever. Was it because she was Raviathan's wife or were the Denerim elves more curious?

When dusk fell they returned to the shop. Raviathan unwove the red ribbon from around their wrists, kiss her wrist, and rewove it into a bracelet for her to wear. They talked about the alienage and his friends as he swept and mopped the floor, then they both picked out food for the evening dinner which he noted in the ledger. He locked up the store, and they returned to the apartment building.

"Here," he whispered in her ear. He pulled out a piece of white chalk he got from Alarith's store. As they went up stairs and through the various halls, he made small marks, triangles and stylized arrows, either at the base or top of halls and entryways. They were small marks and placed where no one would notice unless they were looking for them. "These marks will lead you home."


	4. Married Life – Wedding Night

Warning: NSFW

* * *

The newlyweds fell into an easy companionship as they cooked together, stealing little touches and glances. Raviathan felt a thrill every time she bumped against him. So strange, he thought. His wife. The whole direction of his life could change in hours. He kissed the pale skin her bare shoulder, saw the delicate pink that colored her cheeks in response. My wife.

Raviathan pulled back her hair intending to kiss the nape of her neck when the door opened. His father arrived just before the gates closed for the evening. Raviathan wiped his hands on a dishtowel, taking Nesiara's hand. "This is my father, Cyrion. Father, Nesiara came this morning. Valendrian handfasted us this afternoon."

Cyrion's eyes crinkled in a smile, and he and Nesiara embraced. "Glad to meet you, Daughter. I only wish I could have been there for your handfasting."

Nesiara gave a shy smile in return. "Thank you. Raviathan has made me feel so welcome. If you'll give me a moment." She went upstairs, her footfalls soft thumps on the floor above.

Raviathan went to his father and kissed him on the cheek. "I feel blessed, Father. Thank you."

Cyrion patted his son's back and took a seat. He sighed, glad to be off his feet at last. Raviathan hugged him again then went back to cooking.

Nesiara came down with two small packages. "Father, this is for you. Your shaddain said you liked to smoke on occasion."

Cyrion opened the package she handed him to find an ornately carved pipe of gleaming redwood. There was a small bag of Nevarran tobacco to go with it. Cyrion turned the pipe over examining it. "This is beautiful," he said quietly. He half rose so he could kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Daughter."

She smiled and went to Raviathan, her hand finding the small of his back. "And for you."

Raviathan flicked his wrist to toss the food in the pan. "Open it for me," he asked her. Nesiara pulled out an ornament that had a dozen blue, pink, and lavender crystals hanging from a silver filigree. The crystals caught the light and refracted it in dozens of tiny rainbows. Raviathan lips parted, his cooking forgotten, as he stared in fascination. "What is it?"

"It's an ornament to hang in the window. For the solstice and First Day Annum."

"It's sooo pretty," he said hypnotized.

Nesiara giggled moving the ornament back and forth, pleased by the way his eyes followed it. "You're going to burn dinner."

"Huh? Oh!" Raviathan lifted a pan up in time to save the cod he was frying. "Ness, you're going to have to hang that in the upstairs window; otherwise, I'm not going to be able to get anything done."

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

Cyrion smiled as he watched the two flirt. "Well son, I haven't seen you cook like this in ages."

Understanding his father's years unspoken worry, Rav offered an apologetic smile. "I guess I'm feeling creative." Nesiara thought about the look and comment and stored it away for later. She rewrapped the crystal ornament and put it on the cabinet then took out dishes to prepare the table.

As they sat down to the meal, Raviathan broke the news about Highever. The creases of Cyrion's lined brow deepened. "That is troubling. I wonder just how many refugees were able to get out."

Nesiara swallowed her bite of salad. She wasn't a bad cook, but she had never thought to use a mixture of pomegranate vinegar and pepper in a salad. She thought it would be weird, but it was delicious. One day she hoped her family would be able to visit just so they could meet her husband and see how wonderful this match was. "I heard from another elf headed to Dragon's Peak that the purge did happen."

Cyrion rubbed his face with his hands. "Worse things yet to come. I'll let Valendrian know tomorrow. Our alienage will certainly need to accommodate those fleeing Highever."

"I told him earlier. How bad do you think it'll get?" Raviathan asked.

The aged elf sighed. "Only those who can afford it leave, so they might have enough to start over somewhere else. It's the ones who stay who bear the worst of it. Howe is a powerful man, but I'm surprised he thought he could get away with that. King Cailan will surely see him come to justice."

Raviathan said bitterly, "Shems playing war games. What else is new? We have nothing to do with this but still we pay the price."

"Now son, this is one of the reasons I want you to understand politics. It has an impact on our lives."

Raviathan kept his voice respectful but news of this sort rankled him. "Why? There's nothing we can do about it. It doesn't matter how well I know Howe or the Couslands. I would have been able to change nothing."

"But you see," Cyrion said, "Nesiara's parents did know about Howe. They were able to escape in time to keep their family safe from the purge. We can't change what they do, but it does give us the ability to act before harm befalls us."

Considering the point, Raviathan acknowledged, "I suppose you're right, Father."

Cyrion turned to Nesiara fixing her with a serious gaze. "Nesiara, if you have any doubts, we will not hold the dowry against your family."

She smiled broadly as she squeezed Raviathan's hand under the table. "That's what Rav said." He shot her a shy smile squeezing her hand back.

Cyrion nodded his approval. "That's my boy."

"I am well pleased with the match," Nesiara declared.

Having watched the two flirt and send secretive little smiles and touches, Cyrion wasn't surprised his son's bride would stay. The change in his son had been immediate, and as glad as he was that his family was growing, anything to make his boy smile again was worth gold. The last two years had been the most joyless of Cyrion's life. Conversation was returning, maybe even his son's music, and Cyrion would be endlessly grateful for that. Hope blossomed in his chest. Perhaps grandchildren wouldn't be far away. Cyrion always regretted he and Adaia had not been able to have more children. When they realized Adaia's line was too strong, Solyn's warning prevented more. But that was in the past now. The danger was over. Perhaps this time they would be safe to have as many children as they wanted. He smiled warmly as he patted her knee. "I'm glad to welcome you as one of the family."

"Father, there's more," said Raviathan. "Bandits were on the road. Ness just barely escaped them."

"Were you hurt?" Cyrion asked and squeezed Nesiara's hand.

"No. I got away before they saw me. It was bad though."

Cyrion frowned. "You poor girl. Your parents must have been very worried."

She nodded solemnly. "I feel bad knowing they're struggling while I am so welcomed to a new family. It seems like a wedding celebration is wrong."

Cyrion rolled his mug of wine between his care worn hands as he considered. "I understand how you feel, Ness. We will send word that you are content with your match, but there is little else we can do. At least they have the money they needed and peace of mind that you are safe. I have learned too well that there are always troubles in life. Mourn for what is lost, then move on. Without some levity we will become too grey to carry on."

She paused, considering. "You're right. I would like to send a letter though."

"Of course," Cyrion nodded. " It may take some time to get there given all the trouble in the area. In any case, the banditry is for the banns to take care of. Perhaps the refugees will be in a worse position after all."

They went back to eating. Raviathan felt Nesiara's foot brush his. He smiled but didn't look up as he rubbed his foot against hers. They played like naughty children, which raise a question for Raviathan. He hesitated to ask such a direct question in front of his new wife but was curious . "Father, what are we to do about the sleeping arrangements?"

Cyrion finished chewing then spoke. "Nesiara, you will take my bed. I will use the bunk from now on. Rav will stay in the top bunk until you both feel right about changing things."

Nesiara nodded. "Thank you, Father. That is generous of you."

Cyrion's smile warmed his eyes. "It's good to see my family growing." The two young elves exchanged pleased looks as their fingers played under the table. Cyrion said, "I know your parents had a shop. We can't match that I'm afraid."

"I'm not worried," Nesiara said, her chin lifting. "There was a market woman who started selling my vases to humans. Before I left she had me fill an order for one of the banns."

They both looked impressed. Raviathan said, "That's amazing."

"Not just that," she continued. "I was also getting orders for jewelry. Nothing really fancy, there was only so much we could afford, but the earrings I made sold well to the humans."

Raviathan squeezed his bride's hand. "Ness, you're so talented."

Cyrion added, "That is quite an achievement for one so young. You should talk to Alarith about setting up a display in his store. He might be able to get you some contacts in the Market."

"I met him today. Just briefly." She took a bite of salad and chewed before adding, "I made the pipe and ornament."

In perfect synchronicity, Raviathan and Cyrion both dropped their hands to the table, forks chinking on the plates. Nesiara tried to hide her laughter. Raviathan took her hand, turned it over, and kissed the palm. "You're an artist."

Conversation carried on well past dinner as they talked about the alienage. Raviathan and Nesiara washed the plates and cleaned the kitchen together. Raviathan enjoyed the work when he had someone to help him. Nesiara's company made the work less of a chore. Cyrion sat by the window and started to light his pipe as he watched them. When they finished he said, "You two go on ahead. I think I'll stay up and read for a while."

Raviathan understood the hint. They would have some privacy during the next few nights as they became accustomed to one another. With his ornament in his hand, he led the way up the ladder feeling suddenly awkward. Though he wasn't sure, in all likelihood Nesiara felt the same. The weight of expectation was on him, on them both in fact. He was to be a husband, this his wife.

In an attempt to distance himself from his new awkwardness, Raviathan hung the ornament in front of the window that caught the most light. Using a thin remnant he tore from one of the threadbare curtains that separated the room, he stood on his father's bed to tack it up. It wasn't until he turned and saw Nesiara quietly watching him from the center of the room that he realized what this looked like. This was her bed now. He should have waited for her invitation.

"Um," he started nervously as he grabbed her pack and moved it over to the other bed. "Let me know if you need anything." He felt awkward and out of sorts again just as he had when they'd first met by the gates. He put the candle on the chest that would soon be hers. She looked at him uncertainly as they stood together in the room. Had he been staring? He had been with many women before and had never once felt nervous. Why in the Maker's name was he flustered now? "Oh, uh, let me get the curtains."

Heat from the stove kept the floor warm, enough that bare feet wouldn't freeze, but the room was otherwise chilly in the winter evening. He pulled the main curtain across the room to give her some privacy then started changing into his sleeping wear, a pair of old and patched undyed linen shorts that tied at the waist. The little candle showed her elongated shadow against the thin curtain, her curves light and dark as she changed to a long sleeping shirt. Raviathan felt as hypnotized by that as by her ornament. His wife.

~o~O~o~

Once the curtain was in place, Ness changed into a long sleeping shirt. She could see Raviathan's vague outline as he moved about on the other side of the curtain. He was so different than she had expected. One of the elves who moved from Denerim had told their family Raviathan was a trouble maker and violent. It had worried her parents, but the shaddain who had been caring the dowry negotiations had said that the stories had been exaggerated. His mother had been killed trying to protect the alienage, and the child had been angry but grew out of it.

Nesiara had heard a few other rumors from elves that moved from Denerim, but they were not close friends with her family and so her parents remained unaware. He was supposed to be wild, or at least associated with violence and trouble, and some said that he had been cruel to the girls in the alienage. The stories said he was very good looking, but romance with him often turned out badly.

Worried, Nesiara discussed the rumors with her best friend. They concluded that maybe if he was as handsome as the new elves said, his looks might have made him arrogant. One woman, who had recently moved to Highever for a marriage, told Nesiara that most of the time the girls in Denerim had been chasing him. Though her new neighbor had tried to hide her longing, Nesiara had caught the forbidden emotion when the newly married woman gossiped about Raviathan.

Her parents had been leaning towards a match from Dragon's Peak, but Cyrion had offered a large dowry when her family needed money badly. She had been so terrified on the trip to Denerim. Her family was fleeing, and her match had been hasty arranged. She'd broken down crying one night during her journey, knowing there was no way to return the dowry. She had been sold for her family's safety. She would have done anything to keep her family safe, but it hurt to know they were willing to tolerate putting her in a bad marriage in exchange for their safety.

She had hoped for a match like her sister Anesa. Shaun was plain and a bit boring, but he was learned and as the servant of a bann he had good prospects. Her sister was happy, and as if in testament to that, their son had been conceived within months. Raviathan was nothing like Shaun.

When finished changing she called, "Rav?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to ask you something."

"Okay. Should I… um, are you dressed?"

Nesiara laughed at the bashfulness of his question. "Yes, I'd like to see you."

The rumors of Raviathan's looks had not done him justice. He was more than handsome. Clean bronze skin covered a sculpted, angular face, but those soft, full lips indicated a sensuous nature. His eyes had make her breath catch as she stood tired and afraid near the alienage's gates. Those large eyes were startlingly clear and calm. At that moment, afraid as she had been by the journey and this match, she had felt relieved that this man was the person who would take care of her. He had take care of her and done so gladly. When she spoke she had his full attention, which made her surprisingly shy. Moreover, his gentleness had been unexpected. Soft spoken and a little bashful, he obviously desired her, but he was so compassionate. There were many wonderful qualities that she had not expected. He even had a job to help support his family though it was unusual for a child. Not that he would be considered a child any longer. Her father would say he was a good man. She felt brazen for inviting him over, but he was her husband. And she needed the match to work.

He pushed aside the curtain. His light linen pants stopped halfway down his calf, slung low around his hips. His chest was bare. She had seen her brother and his friends from the waist up, especially during the hot summers, but they looked nothing like this. They were thin, more on the skinny side. Though he had the slender frame of elves, Raviathan had the well developed muscles of an acrobat. How had his clothes covered up that physique? His shoulders were broad and sharp, his waist narrow, long muscles in his arms, and a stomach sculpted in powerful ridges. She had never seen a man who looked like that.

He was watching her steadily. Maker he had beautiful eyes. With long black lashes. His voice was too calm when he asked, "Do you want me to put on a shirt?"

Had she been staring? She must have been staring. She looked down at his bare feet. It wasn't fair. Even his feet were beautiful. "No. It's fine." Her voice sounded wrong, too high. "I was just…uh." She could feel a flush heating her face. Would he think she was easy? Would he become bored with her? "Do you want to sleep here? Tonight?"

His voice was low and confident making her shiver. "Would you like that?"

"Ahh," was all she managed. He had been so nervous and sweet just a second ago. Where had this come from? She should have realized from the way he'd been earlier.

He walked up to her, his feet silent on the old floorboards. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers then gently lifted her jaw up with light fingertips. The kiss he gave her was soft and short, just longer than a peck, and though they had kissed earlier this one held so much more promise with his bare skin showing in the warm candlelight. "Would you like me to be here with you?" He kissed again, longer. She could feel the private parts of her tighten. The whispered voice was so close to her. "I will be gentle. I promise you." Light fingertips caressed her neck, and he leaned forward so slightly to graze her earlobe with his lips. He took the lobe between his teeth and softly nibbled, just a hint of teeth and promises of more. "Is that what you wish?"

Her voice was strangled. "I don't want you to think I'm easy."

Soft lips caressed up the outer ridge of her ear. The fabric of her sleeping shirt started to chafe her breasts. He was barely touching her, and she was melting. "You're my wife."

His wife. It was so proprietary. Was he laying claim to her? She rankled at the thought of being sold. It cut deeper than she had known. What would this man expect of her? A dozen futures flew through her mind. Would they be like the Mallard family, full of smiles with children always making noise in their play? Or the Sistterns, quiet with unspoken anger that made everyone uncomfortable. Would the distance between them spread over the years after too many disappointments? Would that start with this night if she turned him away? The invitation had been too soon, and now she felt the weight of his wanting. The thoughts fluttered away as his teeth grazed up her ear. All she could manage a strangled, "mmmph."

The tip of her sensitive ear was between his teeth, the delicate sensation making her groin tingle. "You have to say it, Ness. What do you want?"

"Be with me, Rav. Stay with me." This would be her future, life with this man. Best to get on with it. If she made him happy tonight, would it pave the way for a better marriage?

Her sleep shirt was stripped off in one fluid motion. She was too startled by her sudden nudity to be embarrassed yet. He bent down, kissing her nipple, his hands pulling her hips hard to him. She couldn't help but let out a startled little cry. Her nipples were hard, and she couldn't tell if it was panic or his mouth that was causing the fluttery sensation in her stomach. Was this her future? She had made a mistake. All those rumors were true. It was too late.

With an effortless sweep of his arms, he had her off her feet. She clutched her arms around his neck, startled again and even more embarrassed that he could see her naked body. She was right there, exposed and tense and up close for him to see. She wanted to squirm out of his arms and cover herself. The heat she felt from before was still there, still warm between her thighs, and it made her feel lewd. She had met him only this morning. Was this their marriage? The weight of the years before her pressed down, and she cringed inside. She had done this to keep her family safe. Was it worth it?

He carried her to the bed, his lips grazing hers lightly. He set her down gently then settled next to her pulling the blankets up. Somewhere along the way he had shed his breeches, and she could feel his bare thighs against her own. It was for her family. Her happiness measured against the three of theirs. "Ness," he whispered close to her ear. "Turn on your stomach."

What did he… no. Nesiara closed her eyes and did as she was told. Why hadn't she waited? She'd heard whispers that this was what humans liked to do with the elves who were exiled and wound up as prostitutes. It was a cautionary tale to make children behave. She wanted to cry.

His fingers stroked her hair. He kissed her hair, moved it to the side and kissed the back of her neck. To her surprise, he sat up and started messaging her shoulders. The hands were strong, firm but gentle. Dare she relax? What would happen after this? "Ness," he said in a voice like soothing velvet, "I want you to be happy." He kissed her lightly between her shoulders.

The massage went on. Sometimes when his hands were starting to tire, he ran them slowly up and down the fine skin of her back. There were little kisses between her shoulders, in the dip of her spine, in the hollow of her lower back. Despite her fears, she was relaxing. The blankets were moved to cover what he wasn't touching, never exposing her bottom, but even with his care her shoulders were getting cold. Though her nudity made her feel awkward, she was getting used to it.

"There," Raviathan said as he lay next to her and pulled the blankets up. Nesiara turned to face him and saw he was calmly watching her. His fingers were light as they brushed the hair from her face, and he leaned in to kiss her. His kiss was sweet and undemanding. She smiled thinking she was a fool. While he was no longer the nervous boy she met at the gates, he had been nothing but sweet. His hand rested on her waist but allowing distance between them. "Tell me what you want. Or when you're ready."

Nesiara bit her lip as she looked at him. "You wouldn't mind waiting?"

"You're my wife."

Nesiara narrowed her eyes bent on teasing him. "You're my husband." It was the first time she said the words, and while they felt strange in their newness, there was a bit of triumph in turning the phrase back to him.

A wide grin met her words. "My wife."

"My husband."

His grin became wider showing off white teeth, and she couldn't help but smile back. He rubbed his nose back and forth over hers making her laugh then kissed her. All the ugly feelings of being sold, of being someone's property, disappeared. "Tell me what you like, Ness. I want to make you happy."

His back was cold when her arm went around him. Before she could say anything, he smiled with a pleased, "mmm," and nuzzled her neck.

"Why didn't you say you were cold?"

He kissed her neck, and she felt warm all over. "It's fine." She pulled back to look at him. The candlelight was a bright behind his head casting his face in shadow. His eyes gleamed brilliant in the low light. "Ness?"

She moved to close the distance between them, but he arched his back away. Curious, she moved her thigh closer. "No," he whispered. She felt the brush of him. He was ready. He shifted his thigh to hide his arousal, and he was back to shy and sweet, his face half buried in the pillow as if ashamed. "I want to stay here with you."

She looked him in the eyes and slowly pulled him close. "What makes you think I don't want that too?" She felt him there, his sex sliding along her leg. The feeling made her tighten suddenly with a faint but insistent throb. "Don't make me wait… husband."

Soft lips caressed her, and his hand moved from her back to cup her breast. Nesiara bit her lower lip as her nipples stiffened at the caress of his thumb. The tightening she had felt before returned like a slow, heavy wave. He was slow, his lips trailing kisses down, down to the supple flesh of her breast until she began to squirm. His voice was low, his longing creating a subtle rasp. "We can stop, Ness. Say the word and we'll stop."

Fingers trailed down her stomach. She expected him to stop, but his hand continued. What would he think? Would he be disgusted? What if he didn't like her? What if he thought she was boring? His mouth left her nipple to kiss the underside of her breast then slowly continued down. She looked down to see her nipple high and bright red, and the tingling became all the worse. "Rav?"

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked never lifting his lips from her skin.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

He looked up at her then, their eyes meeting over one of her swollen breasts. A line formed between his brows as he looked at her in confusion. He rose up over her, moving so his naked chest caressed her. This time he didn't hide. He let her feel him, his desire. He kissed her, his eyes closing as he parted her lips and tasted her. He pressed a leg between hers, and as her legs parted, the building desire doubled. "I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. Will you give me this, Ness?" His lips moved to her ear, and the desire that had been a delicious tingle turned into a wanton ache.

She stared into liquid eyes gone dark, deep and brilliant as the night sky filled with stars. "Be my wife, Ness. Let me be your husband."

She spoke in a sigh. "Yes."

He swallowed and closed his eyes. "Ness, you feel so good." He let out his own soft groan. Unreleased pleasure pulled her from the inside.

When she opened her eyes, she saw eyes as dark and liquid as the ocean watching her. "Ness," he said kissing her sweetly on the cheek, "I promised to be gentle. I never want to hurt you." Soft lips roamed along her jaw. "Sweetheart. I'll do whatever you want. Tell me. Tell me if you're not ready." A thumb roamed over her tight nipple, and her lower parts clenched in response. "Tell me how to please you. I don't want you just this night but every night. You're special, Ness. You're my wife." His mouth went to her ear then, and goose bumps shivered along every inch of her body. "I want our love making to always be special."

She rocked her hips to meet him, her legs caressing up his hips. "My… my husband," and she relaxed, ready to take him. They would spend the rest of their lives together. "I am yours."

He breathed in along her neck. "Ness, are you a virgin?" She swallowed, feeling like hot, melted wax, her whole body wanted him. Would he be disappointed? He caressed her face, making her look back into his darkened eyes. In the dark room lit by one small candle, Raviathan was warm shadows with gleaming eyes that worshiped her. Worship? It did feel that way. Large dark eyes drank her in, took in her desire and filled her with it. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's just… it can hurt if it's your first time."

She whispered, "It won't hurt."

He kissed her deeply, his tongue teasing her. He breathed into her ear as he nibbled gently. "You're my wife now."

Finally he entered her, and nothing had ever felt so good. My husband. You are mine. As I am yours. All the fear was gone. She worried that his father, now their father, could hear them down below. She did her best to stifle her cries, but Maker! How had he learned to make love like this? She ached and throbbed and wanted. Her hands clutched hard at the sheets balling them up in her fists. It was agony the way he kept teasing her.

She cried out as the orgasm hit sending warmth down her thighs and into her belly. She writhed, and the ecstasy didn't stop. When she was spent, weak and hot, he gasped in his own pleasure then slumped down on top of her.

He lay there for a minute to catch his breath with her legs clasped around his hips. He shifted his weight to the side then caressed her cheek and kissed her lightly. He was still breathing heavily when he asked, "Are…are you happy?"

She smiled at him in loose languor. "Very much so. And you, my husband?"

He grinned back as he kissed her. "Yes, my wife. Very happy."

When he covered her with a blanket she pouted. "Don't I please you?"

His eyes twinkling, he reached a hand under to caress her. "You have no idea. I think you're the most beautiful woman in all of Ferelden. My wife. I absolutely love how your skin looks in the candlelight, like a pearl. I just don't want you to get cold."

"What about you?"

"Never been better." He turned to blow out the candle then returned to snuggle with her under the blankets. They couldn't help but wiggle against each other for a bit. The openness they shared was so fun and new, a relief from the furtive relationships of the past. They could lie together for hours and touch at their pleasure. They both giggled a little as they played. His desire continued to make her feel powerful. She loved hearing the happy groans he made when she rubbed her breasts against him. She loved how his hands wanted to touch her and explore, how his naked body pressed close to her. I am his wife, she thought with a thrill. How surreal it was that they had only met this morning, were to live their whole lives together, were so quickly intimate. Raviathan asked quietly as his body moved to caress hers, "Do you want to have children?"

Nesiara's arm stroked his back, and she marveled at the hardness of his muscles. "I'm not sure. It seems a little scary. Labor is so painful. I don't know if I can go through that. But, it's not like we have a choice. If it happens, it happens."

Raviathan settled to look at her in the thin moonlight. Their voices were low, barely above a whisper. It was silly really considering their mostly failed attempts to stay quiet earlier. "I really want children. My aunt was an herbalist and physician, and she taught me how to end pregnancies safely or give the mother extra support to make a healthy child. You have choices. I know how to make an ointment that will make pregnancy unlikely too. I can give you that, but I really want to have children with you. Imagine a little girl with your blue eyes and lovely skin. I can't think of a better gift from the Maker."

"So," she asked pressing close, "you'll help me?" She would have never guessed he had those skills. Nothing had been said during their marital negotiations. That would have made him more favorable in her parents' eyes. Maybe his father had been waiting to see if that would be necessary, but that didn't make sense either. Did the shaddain not know? That would have been grossly unprofessional.

Strong arms held her close. "Of course. I'll rub oil into your belly every day to keep your skin healthy, cook dinner so you can rest your feet. I know about medicine so I can keep you healthy, make the delivery easier. I'll be there every step of the way." Looking into his calm eyes, she knew he would do just that and that he would do so with joy. He nuzzled her. "I want to hold my child in my arms and smell her baby skin. Hold her when she cries as new teeth develop."

"Why are you so sure you'll have a girl?"

"I don't know," he said snuggling in her warm softness. "I guess I've just always imagined a girl. I'd be happy with a boy too."

She smiled still skeptical. "You'll change diapers?" That had always sent the men she knew out of the room.

"Sure," he said naturally. "I've done it before with my younger cousins. I don't mind. The first year can be really tiring especially with feeding. I want to help you as much as I can."

There was a softness about him that touched her heart. He meant it. All of it. How had she gotten so lucky? "You're going to be a great father." He kissed her with a contented smile. "You know, Rav, a physician is a good career. Better than almost any elf I know. How come we didn't know about that?"

Raviathan sighed, his breath caressing her neck. "My father doesn't want me to practice medicine. I do a little bit around the alienage, but it has to be kept a secret. He didn't want me to tell you about it either."

"What? Why?"

"Sometimes templars confuse medicine with magic."

"Templars?" Nesiara asked confused. "But… that doesn't make any sense."

Raviathan bit his lips studying her. "Sweetheart, I'll tell you another time, but I don't want to think about that right now. Please?"

She returned his gaze, saw the sorrow and pleading. "You'll tell me later?"

"Of course."

"Fine," she said letting her fingers trail up and down his chest. "But you'll help me?"

"Anything you need, Ness, I'll do for you," he said squeezing her tight. "You don't have to be alone."

She snuggled close, putting her head in the crook of his neck. She was surprised by the sudden prick of tears. She had felt abandoned by her family, and the resentment of having to travel alone and unprotected became painfully clear. She was not alone. He was strong and cared for her without reservation. Thank you Maker for lighting my path. Thank you Maker for this gift. Let me prove worthy of his love. "Thank you, Rav."

He breathed against her ear, "My wife."

She started to feel that hidden part of him begin press against her stomach. So soon, she thought amazed. "Rav?"

The tip of her ear was gently sucked as his hands roamed down her back. He caressed her buttock squeezing her close. His movement against her became more rhythmic. "Yes, my wife?"

She traced fingertips down his side. His lean muscles guided her hand as she touched him drawing, closer to that secret part of him. He groaned so close to her ear she got chills. He settled his mouth to tease and suck her lovingly. Oh Maker, she thought. Such a gift.

With a surge of possessive need, she pushed him off. He lay on his back, the moonlight creating a bright slash across his chest. She could see him in the light, his hardened muscles so different from all the skinny elves she had seen. He wasn't shy, at least not with her. Again, that thrill. He wanted her, and he felt right.

Wounded eyes looked at her, so sweet in their vulnerability. "Ness, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" He stopped as she leaned down to fondle his ear with her mouth. It was her turn. He let out a long moan as one hand continued to fondle her breast, a touch that made her groin ache. His eyes were closed, mouth open in pleasure as she suckled his ear. He shivered with growing desire. She touched him, marveling at his strength as she continued nibbling his ear. She reveled in her newfound power. Someone so strong was devoted to her and responded eagerly to her. This time it was her turn to tease, her turn to bring their pleasure. The reverence in his dark eyes made her feel like a holy thing. Her body was his alter.

Nesiara slumped, heat pouring from her skin as if she had turned into an oven. Shaking as blood continued to make her whole body pulse, Nesiara cracked open the window to let the winter night in. With the breeze coming in Raviathan felt comfortable enough to snuggle. She could almost feel the responding beat of his body through their skin. For a few moments, they couldn't move, only shift against each other. He gently pushed Nesiara on her side to face away then molded his body against hers. He kissed her on the back of the neck as one arm hugged her from behind. "You're so sweet, Ness."

She giggled in her dazed state. "Was that a pun?"

It took him a second before he chuckled. "It wasn't intended to be." His rich baritone was right next to her ear, and she wondered again at her luck. He nuzzled her neck. "My sweet Ness, hmm? I think that's more of a play on words."

"Oooh. Very lucky for you. I can't have a punny husband." He groaned playfully as she giggled. After a few minutes, she closed the window as he pulled up the blankets. She faced him, reveling in a wonderful whole bodied looseness she had never experienced before. Oh she was a lucky one. "Rav?"

"Yes, my sweet Ness?"

She smiled enjoying the nickname. "Tell me something about yourself."

He nuzzled her face, his nose gliding over her cheekbone. "What would you like to know?"

"Um, we heard a rumor about you from another elf who use to live in Denerim."

"Rumors huh?" He backed up enough to look into deep blue eyes the color of cornflowers.

Nesiara wasn't sure, but he seemed weary. Maybe sad. Ghosts flitted behind his eyes. She felt a suddenly twinge of nervousness not wanting to hurt him. "We heard that you were, um, a little bit wild." At least that word was better than troublemaker.

A regretful smile brought a shadow to his face as he watched her. It made him seem older. Wanting to lighten his mood she smiled back, kissing him. She wiggled her body against his to entice the playfulness she knew was there. As he watched her, he caressed her face, and after she gently bit his neck, the smile reached his eyes. His voice went down to a mischievous whisper. "Okay. I'll tell you a secret."

"Okay," she answered.

"But you have to promise not to tell anybody."

Once his playful mood was engaged, it was infectious. "Promise."

"Nobody knows about this. I mean it. I've never told anybody about this. Not even Shianni."

The conspiratorial game made her giggle, and she nestled closer. "I promise I won't tell a soul no matter what." She almost felt like a child at play again.

"Alright. But you promised, so here goes." She bit her lower lip in anticipation. "I love to read. Ever since I was very young, I've loved reading even before I learned all my letters. Alarith never had enough books, and my parents could only afford so many. I would get bored at night. Eventually my parents got me a lute, but this was before that happened.

"So, you know we live right next to the wall. Late at night, when everyone was asleep, I would sneak out the window, across our roof, then up the wall. It's only fifteen feet, and I found all these old cracks to get to the top. I couldn't go when the moon was too full or the guards would spot me. Once on the wall, I would sneak across by jumping from roof to roof."

Nesiara gasped. "But you could have fallen."

"Shhh." He turned his head to indicate his father. Though Cyrion was down stairs, they still needed to be cautious. He continued in a low whisper, "I was a kid. I didn't think anything about it. I just seemed like fun. Now I realize what danger I was in. But, that's not the whole secret.

"So, there I was, high above the city. Not too far from here is a bann's manor. I went in through a window and found myself in a hallway. It was dark, so I wasn't too worried. I was really lucky and one of the first rooms I went into was the bann's library. It was like finding paradise. For months I would go to that library and read until almost dawn."

"Did you ever take any?"

"Oh no. Though not for any moral reason. All practical. If they found a book missing, they might get suspicious and add guards or security. There would go my paradise. Also, my mother would have gotten 'creative' with a punishment if she found a book they hadn't paid for. No question who the culprit would be."

"What about sleep?"

He smiled. "I'd sleep over at Shianni's while her mother worked."

"What if you were caught?"

"I was going to pretend to be a servant. Some servants have to live there because they can't get back before curfew and are needed through the night. I'd be some errand boy sent to get the young master his glass of water. It's a weak excuse I know, but I was a child. But I'm getting there. So, this is after almost a year, I went to the library. I remember I was reading a book on the history of dragon killers in Navarra. It was so fascinating. I had been reading about dragons for almost a month. This book was on the tactics they used for different ages of dragons. Did you know that only females get wings, and that's… well. I won't go into it now, but I thought it was amazing. I didn't even hear the footsteps coming until too late."

Nesiara gasped. He nodded then continued. "I was sitting by the fire reading. I had my back to the wall so the fire would angle on the book for the most light. In walked a guard and a human servant. I went completely still. I mean, story or no, there was no way to get out of this. I was caught."

Nesiara's eyes went wide in horror. "What happened?"

"There I was." His eyes twinkled in mischief. "The terror of it hit me. I didn't know if the guard would beat me first, but I was betting on it. And after they were done beating me, I'd be in prison. My family would have no idea what happened to me either. I'd be left to rot in a cold, dark cell and never see them again. I thought the one way out of this would be to make a break for it. See if I could outrun him, get to a window and escape. I was about to throw the book at him to distract him, ready to dodge around his legs. But then the servant giggled."

Nesiara opened her mouth in puzzled amazement. He continued, "Oh, I know. Maybe she liked switching elves. I still hadn't moved. She said, 'but someone might catch us.' Then he said, 'Don't worry about it. Everyone's asleep.' That's when she unlaced her bodice and pulled down the top of her dress. He took off his gauntlets and started touching her. I thought, no way. He's in full armor. They can't really be… then she went down to her knees. She took off his cod piece and began kissing his private parts."

Nesiara put a hand over her mouth as she tried to keep her laughter silent. He laughed a little with her. "I had never seen anything like that before. I was just shocked."

It took her a long time to get her laughter under control. Every time she started to get a handle on herself, Raviathan would say something else or make a face that started it up again. She laughed, "Oh my poor little elven boy. What did you do?"

He shrugged still laughing. "What could I do? I couldn't leave without being noticed, so I slowly slunk back in the shadows and waited." He added philosophically, "Turned out to be a very educational night."

She laughed more. "I bet."

He kissed her, smiling. "Our secret."

They settled in close, reveling in the freedom of their bodies. She asked, "Did that happen again?"

He stroked her hair loving the feel of her soft breasts pressed to him. "Never went back. It was a close call and probably one that I needed seeing as what could have happened. My parents got me my lute a week later, so I was happy enough. They even gave me a fiddle, harp, and pipes a year after that because I was enjoying it so."

"I'd love to hear you play." Nesiara couldn't remember the last time she felt this happy or secure. When she and her sister had dreamed of their match as children, they had laughed over some of the worse matches they saw: old men with too young wives making both frustrated, a quiet elf paired with a frivolous and high strung girl whom he held in constant contempt, two elves who were both so stubborn they couldn't agree on a name for their child- a dispute which their hahren had to eventually settle.

Most couples settled into their marriages between the time of their handfasting and official ceremony or, at the latest, within a year, but there were enough exceptions to make them worry. If a marriage wasn't settled within a year, it never would be, and those couples grew bitter. Though rare, bad couples had a way of drawing the eye like a stain on a white dress. They had both seen too many couples fighting, usually over money, enough that they knew they wanted a calm man. While they may have played with the more dashing boys in the alienage, they wanted dependable and patient man in a marriage. Nesiara sent another silent prayer of thanks to the Maker that she had gotten this man as her husband. He was so sweet and affectionate with just the right touch of danger in bed.

He kissed her temple. "Tomorrow."

It was stupid to ask, she knew, but she was feeling so warm. She remembered overhearing her neighbors fight and the husband accused his wife of being a whore. At the time she was too young to know what that was, but the term stuck with her. The couple fought every day, and he started beating her. Nesiara's mother said it was probably a blessing the woman couldn't keep a child to term. Thinking back on the couple, Nesiara didn't want something to go wrong in the future and have her experience thrown at her. Not that she thought Raviathan ever would, but if anything was to come between them, it was still early enough to back out. There was a brief moment of panic at the idea that surprised her. "You really don't mind I'm not a virgin?"

He eased back enough to look calmly into her eyes. "You've guessed the same about me, I'm sure."

She shrugged and nodded. He smiled a little ruefully. "I'm sorry but you might have a hard time of it for a while. There might be some jealousies. If you stay with my friends they'll look out for you."

"So you don't mind?"

He grinned. "Well, not if you don't." Looking serious, he took her hand and raised it up to his mouth to kiss. "When I found out about you today, I started thinking about what it means to be married. I've hurt people because I was too wrapped up in my own wants or too dumb to handle their emotions with compassion. I don't want to be like that, Ness. I don't like who I am when I'm that way. I really do want to be a good husband for you." His eyes glinted with emotion in the dark room. "You're my wife, sweet Ness. We're going to spend the rest of our lives together. I want to be worthy of you."

She pressed her body in for a long kiss. She whispered, "I'm glad it's you, Rav." She settled in next to him ready for sleep. "I'm glad you're my husband."


	5. Married Life – What of Dreams

Warning: NSFW

* * *

It took a moment for Cyrion to adjust to his surroundings as he woke. He hadn't slept in this bed since he was a child. It was an odd feeling, to revisit his childhood days, but he was filled with the mellow satisfaction that perhaps life was finally making a turn for the better. Not since Solyn died had he felt this hopeful. The rough patch may finally be over. Grateful that his new daughter was the change that they both needed, Cyrion decided he should visit the Chantry and offer thanks to the Maker before he went to work today. A prayer tied to the vhenadahl was essential for this gift of peace.

The floor was warm from the oven below, and he heard the familiar sounds of cooking. Cyrion tied a braid to keep his hair out of his eyes and dressed for work in the dim predawn light offered by the tiny windows. By the time he came down, his son was placing their breakfast on the table with Nesiara's left on a warming stone. Raviathan turned when he heard the creak of the ladder and smiled. Keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping elf above, Raviathan said, "She's wonderful father. She's beautiful, and easy to talk to, and so smart. I can't believe she made that ornament."

Cyrion's eyes crinkled, and the smile lines in his face deepened in a way that Raviathan hadn't seen in two years. "It does my heart good to see you two. I hoped that once you saw her things would work out."

Raviathan closed the distance and hugged him. "Thank you. I'm sorry I was difficult yesterday morning."

"Son," Cyrion said, "I only want your happiness. For years now I haven't seen you smile. I know this was quick, but I thought you needed a change." He stroked his son's hair and felt Raviathan's arms tighten in response. There was so much of Adaia in him. They both had that infectious enthusiasm that drew other people to them. When they entered a room, he could feel it even when his back was turned. Adaia had understood the effect she had on others, had been trained for it, and used it to their advantage when she needed to. Cyrion was sure Raviathan was unaware that he had the same effect. "I know you're young, but I think it's time we both started looking to the future again."

Raviathan kissed his father's cheek and whispered, "Thank you."

They sat at the table, both of them keeping their heads bowed, though there was a joyous peace to their meal that hadn't been there a day ago. Cyrion's egg was scrambled, and it seemed his son had remembered they had salt and pepper for the first time in two years. Their porridge had raisins, cream, and honey mixed in. Cyrion smiled. Today there would be a prayer to the vhenadahl and a candle lit for the Maker. Hopefully grandchildren wouldn't be far off.

Cyrion left the ramshackle apartment building and wondered if they should look for a new place to live. It had been close to ideal when his son was young and in need of a place to train. Better would have been a place with a basement that would have muffled sound, but basements often flooded, were expensive, and difficult to come by. Still, they made it work by thickening the walls and having good shutters. He hoped his son wouldn't pass on his training to his children. Adaia had been insistent, and, in his youth, he couldn't see the harm in it.

While Adaia's training of their son had been optional, even something of an indulgence, his son's training with Solyn had been vital. Those had been hard years to get through and ones he was more than glad to put behind him. Thank the Maker that Raviathan had made it, but it still gave Cyrion the occasional nightmare. Thoughts of finding a different apartment stopped as he considered his future grandchildren. He had lived in that apartment since he was born. It was home and a good one at that. He was getting too far ahead of things when he thought about expanding their home to make room for grandchildren.

His thoughts were interrupted when Valendrian spied him. It was early yet, and Cyrion could afford to spend a few minutes with his hahren without being late for work. Valendrian's baritone rang with clear confidence in the empty street. Raviathan could have the same command to his voice if he chose, but he remained soft spoken rather than athoritive. Maybe one day his son would step into the role that was natural to him, Cyrion thought as the two men met and exchanged greetings.

Feeling no need to delay, Valendrian asked, "And how goes the new couple?"

The smile on Cyrion's face was all that needed to be said, but he answered, "Well. Very well. I do not expect to wait long for grandchildren."

For the sake of his friend, Valendrian smiled back, trying to hide his relief, but Cyrion caught it. Many of the adults and elders would be heaving the same sigh of relief, though they would try to hide it as they had hidden their misgivings all these years. The banishment of a child, any child, was painful for the community, and Raviathan would have been an exceptionally difficult case. Everyone knew what happened to the lost children.

No one else was around this early, so Cyrion added quietly, "I know he's been difficult. Thank you for being patient all these years."

"Well. Solyn was very respected. Many here were willing to overlook things for her sake. And for his." There were other reasons, but neither was willing to speak of them in the open no matter how vacant the streets were. Seeing Cyrion's discomfort, Valendrian added, "I never once thought he was a bad boy. Just… just having a hard time adjusting to things. Now that he has a wife to help settle him down, I think things are going to go well for the lad."

"I… I hope so," Cyrion said with a sorrow that never left him, even in moments of joy.

Valendrian said, his voice filled with compassion, "I've watched that boy grow from a babe. Nearly every child here follows his lead. When they're in trouble, they turn to him as much as they turn to me. Give a few years, and I think he'll make the alienage proud." When Cyrion looked up with a spark of hope in his eyes, Valendrian said, "I've had my eye on him for some time now."

The elder elf felt his chest tighten at those words. "I had thought, well, hoped, but I wasn't sure."

"There's a reason everyone in the alienage knows him, my friend. Now, tell me about our newest member. She seems to be a delightful girl."

At that Cyrion brightened, and he extolled the virtues of his new daughter.

~o~O~o~

Raviathan crept up the ladder with one hand, a plate of food nestled in the other. He set the plate on the chest next to his bride. With her hair spread out on the pillow, she was even more beautiful in the dawning sunlight. He watched her for a moment, her mouth parted slightly in sleep, and wondered at the changes that could happen in so short a time. All the major events that had happened in his life had been abrupt and violent. Of the four major turning points, three involved death. For the first time a major change was for the better. His wife with her artist's hands had already lifted the gloom from his home. Raviathan leaned down and kissed her temple then her jaw. She stirred and stretched. "Wake up, my darling wife."

At that she smiled. "You wake up too early."

"I have breakfast here for you."

Nesiara blinked and looked over at the chest. "In bed? You want me to eat in bed? You're weird."

Raviathan chuckled and slowly peeled back the blankets. "I want to see my beautiful wife, but I don't think she'll consent to having breakfast downstairs naked." When her breasts were exposed he leaned down to fondle one with his mouth.

Nesiara groaned and arched her back to press further into his mouth. Her fingers reached up to run through his hair. "Do that, dear husband, and my breakfast will go cold."

Reluctantly, Raviathan left, his eyes on her dark pink and wet nipple. "Then you better hurry and eat. I won't wait for long."

Nesiara sat up and wrapped the blankets over one shoulder to keep warm, but she left one breast exposed for her husband's pleasure. She took her plate and ate. "So. What are the plans for today?"

"Well," Raviathan said with his gaze locked on her chest. "I'm going to be late for Alarith's. I've already decided that he should expect a newly married man to be late. I'm going to watch you eat, then I'm going to watch your naked body do all sorts of interesting things that make husbands late for work." He paused watching Nesiara's nipple stiffen. "I think I'm going to be very late."

"You should be in bed with me."

Deciding she was right, Raviathan undressed. Nesiara watched him as intently as he had watched her. Catching her gaze, Raviathan finished pulling off his clothes. He lay in bed next to her, over the blankets so she could see him. She had stopped eating, her eyes roving over the length of him. "You're going to get cold."

Raviathan worked the blankets until he was under them then curled up next to his wife. "My darling wife is already so protective of me."

Nesiara put aside her half eaten breakfast to cuddle with him. They kissed and touched, and she felt him harden in her hand. "Rav, is this alright?" He let out a little 'mmm' of pleasure, his low voice purring near her ear. She closed her eyes at the sound ready to have ten of his babies. "I… uh, I mean." His hand, cold against the inside of her thigh, pushed her apart so he was between her legs. "You don't mind, I mean, you don't think less of me?"

"Less of you?" He paused, lifting his head from her neck to look at her. She could feel him there, hard between her legs. He was moving back and forth slowly, a promise of what was to come. She still couldn't get over the feel of all that bare skin caressing her or that they didn't have to hide or hurry. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't think I'm too easy, do you? This, I mean, I'm not being wrong, am I?"

He was gentle when he kissed her. "I can't believe you're seriously worried about that." He moved inside her, and her head went back in a groan. Maker he felt good. Like he was made just for her. "Ness," he nibbled at her ear, "I think you're so beautiful. For the rest of my life, I'm going to remember last night, how you looked in the moonlight. I love it that you enjoy this. I love that you want to take pleasure from me. Please, Ness. Don't ever be embarrassed."

Nesiara groaned deep in her throat. She took his hand and placed it over her breast. His thumb rubbed her nipple, irritating it in the most wonderful way. This was her husband she kept telling herself, amazed with the idea. This is the rest of my life. I'm going to cook his meals and care for his children. She saw herself at the stove, stirring soup in a steaming pot, a toddler playing on the floor and a second baby in a small crib near the window. Another little pot had carrots that she was cooking for the baby's meal. Her husband would come through the door, and though she could feel his presence, she wouldn't turn around. She would smile as he came up to her, tired from work, and hugged her from behind. Only after he kissed her did would he go to the baby, lifting the little bundle out and cradling his child in his arms. Their first born would be there, pulling on his pants for attention, so he would sit by the window with a baby in his arms and his toddler playing on his lap. The baby had his skin and fine whips of blonde hair.

The image evaporated when her body tightened. This time he didn't hold his hand over her mouth when she cried out. When he finished, he shifted to the side pulling her with him. His eyes were heavy lidded, and he brushed back the hair from her face. "You look sleepy," she said.

"I love being here with you." He kissed her forehead and entwined their legs. "Do I make you happy, Ness?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

"No."

"Wrong," she said and gently bit him.

"Maybe?"

"So insecure," she said and bit him again.

"Then yes?"

"Still can't get it right." She moved to lie on top of him, his hands going about her waist then lower to squeeze her rear. "You fill me with absolute joy."

They spent the next two hours in fluctuating states of arousal and fulfillment. They dozed at times or told stories between lazy, open touches. "You promised you would play for me."

"I will." He shifted then so one leg was pressed up between hers, and his head lay on her shoulder. "Right now I'm admiring your marvelous breasts."

"They are, aren't they."

Raviathan grinned in dreamy contentment. He cupped one breast, his fingers exploring the velvety soft skin of her areola. "You know Ness, I really can't believe you made that ornament."

"Why not?"

Raviathan snuggled in, holding her close with his lips caressing the nape of her neck as he spoke. "It doesn't look like something that belongs in this world. It's like you took lights from the Fade and bound them together with a memory of dance. When I look at it, I keep expecting to wake up."

"A memory of dance? What an odd way to phrase that."

"That's how the Fade works," Raviathan said and kissed her collar bone.

"How do you know about the Fade?" she asked skeptically. "All it is, is dreams. I don't even remember mine most of the time."

"What was the last dream you remember?"

"Um…" Nesiara shifted on her back as she searched her memory. "I sort of remember being in my house, but we lived inside a large tree. I was in my house, the one back in Highever, and it was inside a tree though there's no way it would fit in real life."

"What kind of tree?"

"Willow I think. I was annoyed because our stove kept breaking, and I wanted my mother to make cookies."

"I'll make you cookies," Raviathan said as he shifted so he lay half on top of her. "All sorts of yummy cookies, just for you."

Nesiara giggled when he kept kissing her neck. "Oh Maker, we're never getting out of this bed, are we."

"Never. We're just going to have to live on Fade dreams." His fingers caressed her lower abdomen, up and down just below her bellybutton, and a wanton pulse responded in her. It was amazing all the different ways he had of making her desire grow. To her surprise, he sat up and then pulled her to sit in his lap, her legs on either side. With her help, he wrapped the blankets loosely around them. "Your back is covered?"

"Yes," she said. "I've never… I don't know what to do."

Their faces were inches apart so he could kiss her easily. His kisses were tender and sweet, his arms around her back holding her securely, and Nesiara let go of the worry that she didn't know how to please him. "We're going to make love slow," he said, his voice soft and close. He started rocking his hips in slow, easy movements. She felt his harndenss bob, lightly caressing her as he moved.

Nesiara put her arms around his neck, again that feeling that this was her future. "We are making love, aren't we?"

"Don't you feel that way?"

It looked like she would break his heart if she said no. That openness to her was drawing her in. All the jaded feelings that she, like all elves, lived with didn't belong here with them in their little cocoon. She felt like a flower opening. "I do, husband." She rose up to nibble his ear.

"Keep doing that, my sweet Ness," Raviathan whispered. His hands caressed down her back, over the curve of her rear, and explored the backs and insides of her thighs.

He pulled his ear away to kiss her. She wished she were a better artist so she could create something as beautiful as his eyes when he looked at her. "Come down slowly."

His fingers were there opening the most hidden parts of her body. He rocked his hips back for a better position, and she could feel the press of him. They moved slow fluctuations, and he had to use his hand to help position himself so she could take him in. This position was a little more awkward, and she couldn't move more than small flexing motions, but she loved that he was so close. "Rav, are you ever going to get tired of me?"

"The sun will fall into the sea first, my sweet Ness." He held one of her breasts up so he could work it with his mouth.

Nesiara let her head dip back with a moan. "I'm going to have to check to see if that tongue is made of gold."

He looked back up at her with a self satisfied smile, but as she watched, awe replaced the expression. "Oh, Ness." Maker, he had pretty eyes. The black lashes and dark skin contrasted with their whites and colors making them look like jewels.

She saw it on his face then and looked over at the window. The sun hit her ornament, refracting bright, compact rainbows and blinding shards of pure, white light. Blues, lavenders, and pinks shaded her skin. She smiled at her husband's reverence then blew a hard breath at the ornament. All the colors and light started shifting about the room in a merry jig. Nesiara turned back to him expecting to see the joy he had last night when he saw his gift. "Rav? What's wrong?"

A tear ran down his face, and he touched the shifting colors on her skin. Nesiara thought she could drown in his eyes. "I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life." They moved together, bodies and mouths united.

~o~O~o~

Nesiara got one bite of cold breakfast before Raviathan pulled her back to the bed. Their blankets were a jumbled mess. She laughed at his hunger. "Rav, you are so bad."

"Bad?"

She could feel him, soft in the cleft of her butt. She pressed her pelvis back against him and smiled when she heard the expected pleased murmur. "You haven't gone to work. You haven't played for me. You haven't told me how you know about the Fade. Bad husband."

"I thought my natural charm made up for that. Alright then." He lay back, and Nesiara rearranged their blankets so her feet wouldn't stick out and get cold. She lay back, half on top of him, and his arm went around her shoulders. "Remember that library I told you about last night? That's how I learned. The Fade is linked to our world, and when we sleep or die, our souls go there, but it isn't like another world. It's best to think about the Fade as lying right underneath everything that exists here. If our world is solid and material, the Fade is emotional and ever changing. You know how an object can have sentimental value? It might not be worth anything really, but it's valuable to you? When that happens, you and the Fade are interacting."

"Really?"

"Yeah. An object in the Fade isn't physical. It's emotional. The emotions you put into it, like a favorite toy or flower, give it substance in the Fade. The way you think of a pot as being real, spirits of the Fade think of a memory as being real. The spirits of the Fade don't understand our world. For them it feels like they're wandering through a frozen wasteland."

"I thought only demons came through the Fade. It use to make me and my sister scared when an old auntie would tell us stories. After she told us those stories, we were afraid to go to sleep." She smiled in memory. "My parents were so confused by their hysterical daughters. My grandmother calmed us down and told us only mages could bring demons into the world."

"That mean old auntie." Raviathan squeezed her close. "Don't you worry, Ness. Your grandmother was right. The connection mages have to the Fade is much different."

"I'm surprised you know all this," Nesiara said.

"I thought it was interesting. Anyway, when you dream, it isn't so much about what you dream as the significance of what those things mean in general and to you in particular. Some symbols are more powerful than others because of the collective souls who have attached meaning to a symbol. As an artist, I think you understand how that works. If you see a chrysanthemum in the Fade, it's linked to death in one way or another because it's the last blooming flower before winter. Harvest time to the Satinalia Annum is a time for remembrance of those gone, and the chrysanthemum is a reminder of their life. Think of every person who has ever mourned and remembered their loved ones on the Satinalia Annum, and you'll understand why that flower is such a powerful symbol and why the Fade is thinned on that day. It's the collective emotions of every elf and human over thousands of years that went into shaping that symbol."

"Wow," Nesiara said. "When you say it like that, it seems so weighty." Nesiara shifted and could hear the steady thumping of his heart under her ear. Her grandmother had warned her to be careful with the symbols she used. It had been mostly words thus far. Nesiara studied the crystals she had made for their marriage: lilac for love at first sight, lavender for enchantment and enduring passion, pale pink for gratitude and grace, blue for trust and depth, indigo for insight, purple for rare wisdom, silver to support and connect them all, and crystal to light their lives.

When her sister had made an ornament of greens and blues for her husband, their grandmother had warned that it would be too sedate. When Anesa offered to add red or orange to liven the energy, their grandmother forbade it. The clashing colors would cause a disastrous marriage. Harmonious colors for a harmonious marriage. Nesiara had thought of her grandmother and her wisdom when she chose romantic colors that focused on a deeper relationship. Her husband was turning out to be something of a mystic. A very sexy mystic.

"The willow tree in your dream has a particular meaning independent of you," Raviathan continued, "but there's another reason why it was in your dream. I'm guessing you think of your home as a creative place."

"That's where I learned from my mother and grandmother. Sometimes we worked at the shop because there were tools there, like a small forge, but most of the time we worked at home."

"So," said Raviathan, "the willow tree. What does it mean to you?"

"The wood is very flexible. It was useful for certain kinds of crafts, like wood weaving."

"No, that's practical. What do you feel when you think of willow trees?"

Nesiara thought it over."There's curly willow, but I always think of weeping willow. I remember the first time I heard that name, and I thought it was sad. There's this tree that's very pretty, but it's always mourning."

"When did you have this dream?"

"It was before Howe came to Highever."

"After you started hearing about marriage negotiations?" Nesiara nodded. "Here's what I think," Raviathan said. "Trees are a powerful symbol in the Fade, and each has a different meaning. Willow is a creative tree, and you associate your home with creation. There are lots of creative trees, but I think you were also sad, which is why that tree was specific in your dream. You think of the tree in mourning, and this is when you know you're going to leave your family. You and you're family are mourning the coming split when you're married and a loss of security. That's why your home was inside the tree. Cookies are a child's symbol. When adults dream about cookies, it's because they want something from childhood or the innocence of childhood. I think you wanted your mother to comfort you, but she either didn't know how you felt or was too distracted. You were annoyed because this was going to be the last of the time you had with her, but she didn't think it was as special or didn't put enough care into it."

Nesiara propped herself up on her arms and stared at him in amazement. "How did you know?"

Raviathan smiled gently at her. He ran a finger under the curve of her breast, admiring her before returning her gaze. "That was an easy one. Some symbols are more complex or have multiple meanings. Cats for example can be innocence, birth or desire for children, death, mystery, bad luck, joyful play, being hunted, hidden knowledge, all sorts of things. Because they're so varied, it depends on the context and your own feelings about them. Things like mirrors are more complex because you're looking within yourself at something that you've been hiding away from or are afraid of. Introspection isn't easy for everyone, especially when it comes to truths we don't want to face."

"You don't think less of me?"

"Less?"

"My dream was sort of selfish," Nesiara said looking down. "My parents were never bad to me, and…"

Raviathan kissed and pulled her close so she was resting on his chest. "We can't help our feelings or dreams, only what we do with that knowledge." He stroked her hair. "Why do you think I offered to make you cookies?"

Of all things, she never expected he would be so easy to love. "Do all plants have special meanings?"

"Some more than others," Raviathan said. "Obviously people have to know about them to invest meaning, so lesser known or new plants very little. Trees, flowers, fruits and vegetables, toxic or healing plants have more. Most people don't care enough about shrubs to invest them with much meaning. Briar bush and ferns are significant."

Briar bush made sense. It was a threatening, ominous plant. Fern? "What does fern mean?"

Shifting so he could lay his head on her chest, Raviathan answered, "The fern is actually quite sacred. It symbolizes creation at the beginning. The unfurling of the fern leaves is the sacred spiral of creation unfurling from the beginning of time, so fern leaves represent the essence of creation and recreation and new beginnings."

Ideas started to dance in Nesiara's mind. She had brought her tools, but she needed some raw materials. Oh, the things she was going to create when she had time. "What about the plant downstairs? It's a strange looking thing."

"The aloe? Well, the aloe symbolizes grief."

"Why would you keep something like that around? I'm never going to look at it the same way again."

Raviathan caressed her with the back of his hand. "I get dry hands in winter and sometimes my skin cracks if I don't take care of it. Aloe has very rich sap that helps."

She raised his hand to kiss it. "I wish I had pretty hands."

Nesiara was taken aback at the wounded expression on her husband's face. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with your hands."

"I didn't say anything was wrong," Nesiara said stroking his prominent wrist bone, "just they're not pretty. You've got gorgeous hands."

He took her hand in his and kiss her palm. "I think your hands are perfect."

"You'd be the first to say so," Nesiara said with a laugh. "I saw a noble woman in a parade once. She had the most beautiful hands. Delicate and fine boned as a little girl who had spent her life surrounded by velvets and silks. Who had never so much as scraped a knee. She was very pale too. Not a single flaw in her skin. It was like she was a life sized Orlesian doll made out of porcelain. Since then, I've wished I knew how to make porcelain so I could make something as pristine. I can do some clay work, but nothing of that variety."

"Ladies' hands are as useless as they are. Give me a wild dandelion over a fussy franklinia any day. Sweet Ness, I think your hands alone are a hundred times better than any noble's, and Maker knows you're more beautiful than any of them." Raviathan said and took her breast into his mouth and flicked her nipple with his tongue. Nesiara twisted so his face was between her breasts. They were never going to get out of this bed. When she started her journey from Highever, a hundred possible future husbands waiting for her, she had never imagined this. He slid his smooth face between her breasts, kissing between them or on the sides, his lips caressing every inch of her softness. She tensed her arms to squeeze her breasts together, and he looked up at her with a sly grin. "How in the Maker's name did I get so lucky?"

She narrowed her eyes, determined to tease him with a little aloofness, but oh how her need was pulling at her again. "So, if our souls go to the Fade when we sleep or die, does that mean when we dream we could meet the spirits of those who have passed?"

"What, like have a conversation with your great, great grandmother?"

"Something like that. I'd love to be able to talk to my grandmother again. Don't you feel the same about your relatives?"

"Maker no," Raviathan said which startled Nesiara. He turned to look her in the face, his neck resting on her breast. "Ness, the people I love, I want them to go beyond the Fade and to the Maker. The souls that stay in the Fade are the lost ones. Sometimes they become spirits, but more often they become shades who never stop longing for life again. I want my loved ones to be at peace."

Nesiara grazed the edge of Raviathan's ear with a fingertip, and his eyes became heavy lidded with the pleasure of it. She hoped he was getting hard again. "But you grieve. I could see it when I came."

Raviathan kissed her breast before settling his head comfortably on her chest. "Sure I grieve. But if it's between seeing them again or not, I'd much rather their souls be at peace. Everything dies, sweet Ness. In time we'll see them again."

Deciding that she didn't care about teasing him just now, Nesiara pushed him off then straddled him. His hands roamed up and down her thighs, and he pulled her close, his hands stroking her bottom and lower back. "Dear husband. How did I get so lucky?"

"You didn't," he answered and rolled them over so he was on top and kissing her.

"Hey, Cousin," a female voice called from below.

Raviathan turned his head to the hole in the floor in annoyance. "Go away, Shianni. I'm busy."

"Alarith's worried about you," she yelled back.

"I'm fine, now go away."

"You have deliveries to make," Shianni said.

"Shianni, go away!"

When Nesiara let out an 'oh' of surprise, Raviathan turned to see Shianni's laughing head poking out of the hole. Raviathan threw a pillow at her, and she ducked only to pop back up like a red headed gopher. "Cousin, don't tell me…"

"Maker's great hairy ass," Raviathan said and shifted off Nesiara. He covered her up then turned to glare at his cousin who was climbing up with the pillow in her hand. She set it against the chest next to their bed to lean on while she finished Nesiara's breakfast. Raviathan propped his head up on his hand, amusement glinting under the annoyance. "Shianni, I can't wait until you're married so I get to embarrass you."

Shianni covered her mouth so food wouldn't show while she laughed. "What did you expect, Cousin? You think the rest of the alienage fell into the abyss while you've been up here playing? Andraste's ass, people are going to be talking."

"People have always been talking," Raviathan grumbled.

"Not about her they haven't," Shianni said, and Nesiara frowned at the thought.

"We're married," Raviathan said, his arm going protectively around his bride. "Those blasted gossips can go to the Black City. We're perfectly within our rights. Aren't we, my sweet Ness," he cooed at his wife. Shianni rolled her eyes and ate more of Nesiara's breakfast.

Nesiara giggled at the two before kissing her insistent husband back. "Rav, I would like to go to the Chantry today. To light a candle for my family."

"Shianni will take you."

"Not you?" Nesiara asked.

"I, apparently, have deliveries to make," Raviathan said.

"As if that's the real reason," Shianni said under her breath. Raviathan scowled at her.

Looking between the two, Nesiara asked, "What does that mean?"

"He hates the Chantry," Shianni said. "As long as I've known him, he's hated the Chantry."

"Not true," Raviathan said still scowling at his cousin. "I wasn't born hating them, but after the purge and that," he wanted to say bitch, but if Nesiara was devout, he didn't want to offend her, "woman blaming us for it, I lost any and all sympathy."

"But you believe in the Maker," Nesiara said in concern.

Raviathan's lips thinned and he looked down. "I believe in the Maker, but I don't like the Chantry."

Nesiara frowned in puzzlement at him. "I don't understand."

Raviathan sighed as he searched for a way to explain. "The Chantry isn't the Maker. They're just a pack of shems. I hate how the Chantry treats elves and their politics. And if the Chant of Light is a holy thing, they've no right to change it."

"They've changed the Chant of Light?" Shianni said in surprise. "I've never heard that."

"Oh yeah," Raviathan continued, to both women's interest. "They call them the dissonant verses when they don't like them. The Canticle of Shartan, the elven rebel who fought with Andraste, completely taken out because they wanted to get rid of the elven homeland in the Dales. The Maker might be god, but the Chantry is full of hateful shems who have their own agendas. The second they decided what to allow and what to take out, they took those words from the divine and delegitimized the entire creed. The Maker has turned his back on us, and it's a lie to say the Divine is able to talk to him. Ness," Raviathan began more calmly when he saw her troubled frown, "I don't want to take your faith from you, but I'm not the kind of person who will be able to share in it." He kissed Nesiara's temple. "Sweet Ness, don't be upset. I think these hands of yours are more divine than any priestess or building. I believe in you more than their words."

Shianni reached over and took Nesiara's hand. "It's okay, Ness. I can take you as soon as you're dressed if you want. The Chantry is just on the other side of the Market, so it isn't too far."

"Thank you, Shianni," Nesiara said. She was disappointed that her husband wouldn't be able to share her faith, but she wasn't disappointed in him. She shifted so her back was to him and pulled his arm so he was holding her close. At least it was something he had thought about and had conviction, and that spoke more to her than someone who was lazy in their beliefs. "Mmm," she murmured and snuggled into her husband's embrace. "I do suppose we should get out of bed."

"You two would starve if it wasn't for me," Shianni said. "Staying in bed until all hours."

"Go away," Raviathan said to Shianni. "We need to get dressed."

Shianni looked at him as if he were being rude. "So get dressed. I'm not stopping you."

"Shianni," Raviathan started but she interrupted him.

"Cousin," she said in exasperation, "like I haven't seen you naked a thousand times before. And besides, who do you think is going to measure Ness for her wedding clothes? You may know a little stitching, but you can't make clothes."

Raviathan opened his mouth to argue, but Nesiara squeezed his arm. "It's alright. Shianni is my cousin now too."

Shianni beamed smugly at Raviathan. "See," and she leaned up to kiss her new cousin. "At least you're marring a woman with sense." Raviathan and Nesiara had to pull their legs up when Shianni decided to sit at the foot of the bed. Raviathan gave his bride one last, reluctant kiss before the two left their bed to dress. Shianni absently watched her cousin pad across the room as she thought about the news going around the alienage. "One of the buildings has been sold."

"Which one?" Raviathan asked pulling on clean small clothes.

"You know the one on the southeast side next to the dripping sewage line? The one Nessa lives in?"

Raviathan paused as he searched for his warmest clean pair of patched pants. "You think her family will be okay? Her father is getting to be old." Raviathan explained to Nesiara, "Claye was married late. Was a farm hand who had to take care of his family first. It was another twenty years before they were able to have Nessa. She's only a year younger than we are, and she's really nice if a bit quiet. Actually, she's one…"

"Oh, holy Maker!" Both Nesiara and Raviathan turned to Shianni. The red head was standing on their bed and staring wide eyed at the crystal ornament. "How did I not see that before?"

Pride shown out of Raviathan's eyes, and he puffed out his chest. "Ness made it. It's her wedding gift to me."

Shianni looked at Nesiara with new eyes, and the other elf demurely continued to dress, but there was a knowing look to her small smile. Shianni turned back to the ornament and poked it a few times to see the light refract around the room. "Cousin, I don't know how you're going to get something half as worthy as that."

Raviathan straightened in indignation. "Shianni!"

"Well it's true," she said poking the ornament again. He pulled on a tunic over his shirt and gave his cousin a dark look which she ignored. "I've never seen anything that pretty before. It's amazing."

Pursing his lips at his cousin, Raviathan strode over to Nesiara who was putting on her stockings. "Take care, sweet Ness," he whispered next to her ear.

She kissed him in parting. "Don't worry about what she says."

Raviathan gave her a much more enthusiastic kiss goodbye. As he left, he gave Shianni a smart smack on the rump and grinned at her yelp. Nesiara would have told her she deserved it had she known her new cousin better. Instead she brushed out her hair and thought over what he had said about the Fade. It really was astonishing how much he knew. Shianni sat with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind her.

"Hey, Ness. How you settling in?" Shianni took the brush from her and started working on her hair.

Shianni was careful over her ears, and the care Nesiara felt increased. Her new family had been nothing but wonderful. "I'm really happy here. It takes some getting used to everything. Is… is Rav always so sweet?"

Shianni laughed. "Unless he's teasing me, yeah." Hesitating, Shianni trailed her fingers through Nesiara's hair and wondered what was safe to talk about and what might already known or not. Whether Rav had told her or not, she was going to hear about it one way or another. "I know he's got a bit of a reputation. Some of it's deserved, and some of it's not, but what you're seeing is the real him. He can… well, sometimes he's a little hard to know, but he means well. Um. Has he… do you know about… uh, that he knows about… plants and things?"

How careful she was being, Nesiara thought. "He told me he knows medicine."

"Oh," Shianni said in obvious relief and started braiding her long hair as if they were sisters. "Did he tell you that it's sort of a secret?"

"Yes, but he didn't tell me why. He seemed really sad about it, so I didn't want to press."

Nesiara heard Shianni take and hold a long breath before letting it out. "You're going to find out, so I guess sooner is better. Rav learned all of that from his aunt. Solyn was never married, but she was very respected here and the most giving person I'd ever met. She was a little like one of those stern looking mothers who would sneak you a cookie as long as you didn't tell anyone. And if you needed to talk to someone, she would listen and never tell another soul if you didn't want her to. Don't mention her around Alarith though. They had sort of a thing, and Rav says she was considering marring him."

"She sounds… unusual." Marrying at a late age, but then to choose the marriage as well?

Shianni laughed lightly. "Determined, I'd say. After Rav's mother died the two of them were always together working. I know she was like a second mother to him. It was about a year and a half ago when she was killed."

"Was killed?"

"Keep your head straight," Shianni said, "or I'll have to rebraid that section. She was a really skilled healer. Ask her anything about herbs, and it was like she was reading a book. We're not exactly sure what happened, just that she went missing one day. It took us two weeks of searching all over Denerim. Rav was the one to find her. He wouldn't let anyone see except for Valendrian. Alarith threw a fit. I've never seen him that angry before or since, but Rav wouldn't budge. Because it had already been two weeks, he said there wasn't time for a proper funeral, so he and a few others took her body outside the city to be burned."

"That's so horrible," Nesiara said. No wonder he didn't want to talk about it. "Did you ever find out who did it?"

"That's just the thing. The day she disappeared, some of the men who work by the docks saw a group of four templars hanging around one of Solyn's suppliers. They thought it was strange at the time. Why would templars be there of all places, unless they were looking for an apostate."

Nesiara's breath caught. "She was an apostate?"

"Not at all," Shianni quickly assured her. "But she was a fantastic healer. You know what it's like being an elf. We're always the ones shems turn to when something bad happens. Any excuse to put us down. What we think happened was that someone turned her in. It could have been a supplier, she had connections of all sorts you know and not always the nicest of people, and maybe something went wrong. Uncle Cyrion and Valendrian think it was a bitter patient of hers. Rav will be the first to tell you healers can't do everything. Sometimes people just die, and there's no account for it. There," Shianni said and kissed Nesiara's hair. "I think that looks gorgeous. Let me see from the front."

Nesiara turned around, and Shianni smiled at her handiwork. The thick swept braids were high around her hair line then curved to the back as if her hair was an ethereal coronet. "I wish I had a sister," Shianni said. "It's so much fun to play with your hair."

"My sister and I fought all the time. Drove our parents to distraction." She squeezed Shianni's hand. "It's so strange coming to a new alienage. Thank you for being kind."

A faint pink colored Shianni's cheeks, but she looked pleased. "I… I'm sorry if I was rude yesterday. I started to feel like I was losing my cousins." She waved her hand to dismiss the thought. "Come on."

The two went down the stairs where their boots were kept. Nesiara asked, "But why think it was the templars? It could have been a coincidence. Just some thugs."

Shianni pulled one boot on with a wince. "Rav didn't want to get into the details, but he said he could tell by the damage to her body that whoever did it was trained. So, not common street thugs, and there were no guards in the area. Just the templars. Considering what some of the elves said, we think it was either a shem whose son had a disfigurement she couldn't fix, or… well I'm not supposed to give names. Valendrian said no names or rumors unless we're sure. But there was an elf whose child died from an accident and another whose wife died of an illness she couldn't cure. You know, it's weird, but sometimes when Solyn couldn't cure a patient, either they or their family would blame her. Not always, most were grateful she tried no matter what happened, but it was ugly when they got upset with her. I saw that with Rav once. The grandmother had consumption, and when she died, the father was screaming at him. Awful things. Rav didn't say anything back, not a word. Just walked away like he was carved out of stone. He stayed at my house that night where it was just the two of us and cried."

"Poor Rav," Nesiara said. Poor husband.

"It made Valendrian and Uncle nervous. That's when they forbid him to do anymore. I think they both know he still practices in secret, or at least Valendrian does. I think it helps remind everyone of what they lost and could lose from one elf's bad behavior."

"Here," Nesiara said. "I made this for my new father."

"Andraste's ass, Rav got lucky." Shianni shook her head in wonder as she examined the pipe. "Ready?"

"Let's go."


	6. Married Life – Imps and Weddings

On the bottom floor of the apartment building an old woman called out to Nesiara and Shianni. "Shianni. Come in for tea." Inside the humble one room two grey haired matrons with sharp eyes and wide grins sat together at a small table.

Head lowered slightly as if in for a rebuke, Shianni led the way. "This is granny Drioni," she said, indicating a handsome, oval faced woman with sly a glint in her dark eyes, "and granny Eolas." She gestured toward as woman who had the same dark eyes in a heart shaped face. "They're sisters. This is Nesiara."

"Oh we know who you are," Eolas said. "Trean couldn't stop talking about the new elf."

"And did you see that young buck prancing down the stairs?" Taking Nesiara firmly by the arm, Drioni led her to a chair. "Looked like the Maker's light was shining out of his ass, he did."

"He was late for work, he was," Eolas said. "Never been late before."

"Didn't take him long, but of course it wouldn't," Drioni added with a knowing grin. Nesiara blushed at the two dames' chuckles.

"That's nothing against your character, dearie." Eolas busied herself at the little stove. "Just we know that boy. Even one of those Chantry virgins wouldn't stand a chance if he had a mind to it."

"So much trouble that boy," Drioni said wistfully.

"So much good he does," her sister replied and set two small cups in front of their guests with bowls of cream and sugar. "I take it then that you're happy with the match."

Nesiara folded her hands in her lap. "I am."

"Oh, if I was forty years younger," Drioni said with a positively wicked deep throated laugh. "That one would turn a brunette red. I'm surprised Shianni could even get you out of that room."

Eolas poured the tea, refilling their cups in the process. "He's got a body on him, doesn't he. He doesn't know it, but my sister here is always tipping over around him just to get a touch. But then, considering how he flirts, maybe he does know it and lets her have her thrill."

"Are you any different, Sister?" Drioni asked already knowing the answer.

"I'm much more subtle."

Shianni put a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. "You two are awful."

Eolas fixed her gaze on Shianni. "One day my dear, you'll be just like us. Too many wrinkles in that pretty face and too much knowledge. Sometimes dearie, you have to laugh or you end up crying all your days."

"True, true." Drioni's eyes sharpened on Shianni. "She's already got a bit of a mouth on her."

"Not becoming in one so young," Eolas admonished. "Wait another thirty five or forty years, then you're not rude or crass. You're just a character, and everyone shakes their collective heads at what you say, but you'll know the truth of it."

Drioni's eyes gleamed over her tea cup as she took Shianni's measure. "A child is a child still. You want more say but aren't willing yet to grow up."

"Shianni," Eolas said quietly. "Do not be in such a hurry to grow too old. Knowledge is its own kind of power, just as innocence is. But don't wait too long either. Innocence doesn't last forever you know, and when it is gone, if you have developed nothing else, you will be alone in the world."

"Um, yes, Granny." Mystified, Shianni smiled nervously at Nesiara.

"And you, new elf," Eolas addressed Nesiara, "are learning what it is to be a woman."

Drioni gave her a toothy grin. "You're still walking, so I think you might be able to keep up with that buck."

Nesiara had to gulp the hot tea quickly or choke. Eolas slapped her sister's knee in reproach. "Now Dri, she's a new wife. Wait for it to settle a bit first."

"So, new elf," Drioni said taking little notice of her sister. "What are your plans for today?"

Just like gossips, it seemed every alienage had a few old cantankerous grannies around to make the children smile at their parents' discomfort. "Well, Shianni is going to take me to the Chantry…"

"The Chantry," Drioni said. Both women took a keen interest at that. "Do tell."

"My parents were able to escape a purge at Highever, and I wanted to light a candle and pray for their safe passage."

Maternal affection gentled Eolas's smile, and she patted Nesiara's knee. "You're a good girl, you are. Pride of her parents this one. No wonder Rav had his chest puffed out."

Drioni had a small smile of pure mischief on her face. "Could be that's why, but I think the lass has other charms as well."

"Sister," Eolas admonished with her own grin.

"Ah well," Drioni said without the least embarrassment. "Boy knows how to move his hips is all I'm saying, and I think this girl knows it."

"She means dancing," Eolas whispered to Nesiara.

"I mean exactly what I said. Oh, most young men think it's just a matter of wiggling it around a bit, then they flop over as if they've got the Maker's gift between their legs and go to sleep while their wives stare up at the ceiling and wait for them to learn better. Some of those idiots have a hard time finding the right hole and wonder why their wives don't get pregnant." Shianni choked on her tea, and Eolas had to slap her on the back a few times before the fit stopped. "But he knows his ins and outs, doesn't he, new wife." Nesiara could feel the blood rush to her face.

"Now Sister, they're going to the Chantry. Not right to fill their heads with such things."

"Better that then some of the Chants they harp on about," Drioni grumbled.

"Anyway," Eolas continued. "So you're going to the Chantry. What else?"

"Uh," Nesiara stumbled over her words as she tried to get her thoughts back in order. "I brought most of my equipment with me, but I need raw materials to make crafts. I didn't see much of the Market yesterday, so I thought I'd look for materials today."

"Oh you should see what she can do," Shianni said excitedly. "The wedding gifts she gave to Rav and Uncle Cyrion are the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life."

"Ah," Eolas said, "then it's a good thing you've come by today."

Drioni took Nesiara's hands and wrapped a small pouch in them. "A wedding gift. It's not much but you're welcome to it. Let's hope it gets you started on your future here."

"Oh. Thank you," Nesiara said, "but I don't know if I can take this. It's not the official ceremony yet, and part would go to Rav…" Elder elves had little money to sustain them unless a younger relative was willing to care for them, and these two looked like they were on their own. They shouldn't accept any money from someone in such a bad position, but she shouldn't hurt their pride either.

"Oh hush," Drioni said. As if reading her thoughts the woman added, "We make lace that a woman sells in the Market. It's enough that we can give this, and that boy has done so much good that goes unrewarded. My sister almost died of pneumonia last year, and if that happened, Maker forbid, I don't know what I'd do. Use it to make a good life for the both of you."

"Go on, dearie," Eolas said. "Use it as an investment in your future."

Nesiara kissed each of them on the cheeks and gave thanks. Outside she and Shianni began giggling uncontrollably. "Holy Maker, it's amazing what comes out of their mouths."

"Please Maker, I don't want to get the Chantry giggles," Nesiara said.

"Chantry giggles?"

"You know when you're supposed to be serious, but then you start giggling and can't stop. Chantry giggles."

"Do you go to the Chantry often?" Shianni asked taking Nesiara's arm as they walked through the alienage.

"Every week."

"I've never been so much as inside their courtyard."

"You're parents never took you?" Nesiara asked. "My parents closed up shop for two hours on Chantry Day so we could all go."

Shianni shrugged. "My father died a long time ago. My mother works as a lady's handmaid. She travels a lot, and the family she works for lives somewhere in the Bannorn. I don't see her much."

"I'm sorry about your father." Nesiara squeezed her arm. No wonder she was so invested in her cousins.

"It was a long time ago. I didn't know the Chantry allowed elves."

"Not as priestesses of course, but the service at Highever was quite welcoming."

Shianni snorted. "Didn't think the shems would want us around unless we're cleaning up after them."

She hadn't paid much attention to it last night, but her husband had a similar attitude. "Humans aren't all that bad."

"Ha! Don't say that around Soris, and really don't say that around Rav. Soris was orphaned because of the last purge. The Denerim Arl, the Kendells, would have gotten rid of us if they could. Urien thinks we're vermin. Their son is a bad sort too. If you ever hear them coming, hide fast."

If the Kendells were anything like Howe, Nesiara supposed the elves attitudes made more sense. Shianni continued to fill her with gossip until Nesiara was sure that if she tipped her head, a few dozen names would slip out her ear.

Nesiara walked through the Market for the second time in as many days, but this time her fears were settled, so she could enjoy it with her new cousin. Highever had a few Orlesian merchants, but it was nothing like the bustle and diversity she found here. She heard merchants shouting for customers or bargaining with well-practiced phrases. All around her, the city was filled with foreign accents she didn't recognize. There were sharp and brutal tongues, fluid and languid voices that spoke with a love of vowels, unctuous and sibilant tones, and darker cadences that drew out words as if they were unveiling secrets.

Their beasts were strange as well. A large golden cat with golden eyes watched with anger underlying the humiliation of its caged state. The large, black lined red spots that covered its side looked like clouds hovering in a red sunset. As its steady gaze tracked her, it licked its lips, looking as sleek and sexy as an assassin. At the next stall, she saw brightly colored birds of all sizes. Some, as long as her arm with intelligent grey eyes and plumage in primary colors, sat next to tiny bright blue, green, and striped birdies that huddled together like rows of kernels on a corn cob. Plain brown birds with enchanting, bell like songs fluttered in wooden cages. One dwarf was selling what looked like naked rabbits the size of dogs, but they twitched their whiskers and squeaked like mice.

There was even a section for horses. The two women went to the stables where nobles talked and traded the great animals. Centered in the stage was a black mare with a shimmering coat and such delicacy of form Nesiara didn't have to know anything about horses to know she was a prized animal. "One of the Antivan Iburri's line crossed with a Tevinter bloodmare," the trader said to the two nobles examining the animal. "She's a rare one she is. Smart and fast. Won't find her like here, ser, oh no."

The dark haired noble said to his friend, "What do you say? A mare like that and you'd never lose a racing tourney. Put that brat of Bann Sigard's in his place."

The fair noble had his back to the watching elves. He was thick with muscle and had a way of drawing the eye as some nobles or generals did, a man completely used to people obeying him. "She's pretty enough, but I want to see how she rides."

Shianni clutched Nesiara's arm. "We've got to go," she whispered.

"What is it?"

"Shh! Oh Maker he saw us. Come on," Shianni started running, and Nesiara had no choice but to follow. They hurried through the maze of stalls with the more common livestock: sheep, goats, rabbits, and foul. Geese squawked at her as humans yelled and bartered.

"Shianni! Tell me what's going on." Nesiara stopped forcing the other woman to as well.

Shianni looked around the mill of humans then jumped to see over their shoulders. "No. If he followed we'd hear it." She took Nesiara's arm again and leaned close. "I was telling you about the Kendells? That blonde one is the son. There are a lot of rumors that he has a thing for elven women. Please Ness, if you ever leave the alienage on your own, watch out for him. Only exiles work for the Kendells."

If nothing else convinced her, that last part did. "I'll be careful." She shook Shianni's arm. "Come on. He's gone. Let's enjoy ourselves."

Past the livestock with the strong scent of manure were the leather goods with rich fragrances, then stalls with fabrics and ornate carpets for sale. Nesiara took a moment to admire one of the carpets made of fine wool and silk. One carpet could take a woman two years to weave if it was done correctly. Too much weaving a day would cause the weaver to lose her sight. "Lace, elven made lace," a woman called showing off a cloth of gracefully woven floral patterns. If these were what Drioni and Eolas made, the two women were artists.

They passed a beautiful Orlesian woman selling imported oils and perfumes in small crystal vials. "Why are perfumes always Orlesian?" Shianni asked.

"My aunt said it's because they don't bathe."

A scrawny dog was snuffling about for scraps at the fringes where he would not be chased off, and children played five stones behind the last of the stalls. As the two women passed, the children goggled at them. "Look at their eyes," one whispered.

"Father says they're dirty."

The little girl, a tomboy if her dirty trousers were any indication, said, "I think they're pretty." The one who said they were dirty nodded in agreement.

"Here we are," Shianni said when they arrived at the stone Chantry. The nearby buildings looked flimsy in comparison to the tall, arched structure. Time and weather aged the buildings, and to Nesiara's eyes, revealed their true faces, just as age did with the faces of elves and humans. Age brought the lines of laughter or troubles, gave once smooth youth distinction, and showed the true life one had lived. A fine Chantry like this could take generations to build, each imposing a different style, a different will on the structure, and in its solidity stood the people's collective faith.

Near the courtyard entrance were the criers and chanters in heavy red and gold robes to represent the fire that burned the prophetess Andraste, a tragedy for all people but one which freed her soul to go to the Maker. An older woman with large, low hanging breasts chanted in a powerful voice, "The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil, And grew jealous of the life. They could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born."

Templars milled around the courtyard speaking in low tones. In their battle scared armor was etched the holy sword of mercy, forever on fire. From the waist down they wore robes of regal purple with gold trim, colors as noble as their calling. One templar was kneeling in front of a statue of Andraste, his sword before him as he prayed to her white, marble figure.

Nesiara had always felt protected when she was near the Chantry. The templars were as good if not better than guards because they were devoted to a cause for spiritual reasons rather than monetary. It was a hard life to keep apostates in check, and templars sacrificed the pleasures of this life to fill a noble cause and do the Maker's will. Could men like the one in fervent prayer really cut down an innocent healer on suspicion? Rav didn't like the Chantry, so it was easy for him to blame them when there was little evidence.

On the other side of the heavy oaken doors was the hushed reverence Nesiara had found boring as a child eager to be on to making her clumsy child's crafts. As she grew older she found the peace of the Chantry to be filled with solace and quiet expectation. The way she felt with her tools before her and imagination set was how the Chantry always felt. It was the moment of readiness when everything was still and full of potential.

The harsh sun was dimmed here, the light turned into patterns of color by the stained glass windows set high. Nesiara breathed a sigh of calm before going to one of the side alcoves. Shianni followed at a polite distance and took in the sights of the building. Nesiara retrieved one of the small candles kept for prayer and held the unlit candle to her chest as she bent her head to infuse her prayer for her family. This was the preparation that would purify her intention. Next she lit the candle from the single flame at the head of the alter, rested hers among the dozen other lit flames, and knelt to pray.

She whispered, "Thank you Maker for blessing me with a home when I was lost. Blessings to the man whose bed I share and who shares himself with me. Thank you for bestowing these fortunes on me. Please Maker guide my family's path. Give them the strength and courage to find their way as I found mine. Soothe them of their troubles and suffering. 'For those who are humble and in need, the Maker's Light will show the way. Let there remain no darkness, for darkness does not exist in the Maker's Light. May those who find themselves wandering in fear, the weakest of your children, be protected by your Light.' May your gaze show the way. Amen."

Nesiara stood and went to Shianni who looked more like a robin that had accidentally flown in and didn't know what to make of the place or how to get out. "So… is that it?"

"I need to register for my marriage permit."

"Marriage permit," Shianni said too loudly. She began a little more quietly after receiving a dirty look from an initiate tending the alter nearby. "Doesn't a mother just say a few words or something? What do you need a permit for?"

"The Chantry keeps a record of marriages," Nesiara said, wondering at her companion's confusion. "That's the difference between a handfasting and an official marriage."

"Mother Boann shows up on the aunnums to do it. We wait around until she's done then the fun happens."

"So… the couple doesn't come here for the ceremony?" Elves and the poor did not get anything grand like the wealthier humans, but they did have to show up at least.

"Not as long as I've seen them."

"We still need permits. That's what makes it legal."

Shianni shrugged not really caring. "Okay. How long will that take?"

Nesiara left to find a clerk who would be able to explain how their system worked. Denerim was just different enough to keep her from feeling settled, even in a Chantry.

~o~O~o~

At noon on the First Day Aunnum, Mother Boann officiated three weddings. All the elves who could take the day off joined the rest of the community gathered under the vhenadahl. The Mother was a plain woman, and while Raviathan did not like humans, he could tolerate her. If nothing else, her willingness to preside over the weddings here kept him away from the Chantry and those bloody templars.

Raviathan saw the ceremony with new eyes. It had been fun before with all the celebration, but now he saw the joining of two lives and began to understand the hope adults had when they witnessed their children growing and continuing. He was an only child, and as such, was the only bridge for another generation for his family. From his mother's family, his uncle and aunt had both died without children. Their line was for him to carry. He tightened his arm around Nesiara's waist, and she leaned into him. In three months it'll be our turn.

Like many of the other elves, Raviathan shifted in irritation when the Mother started a new line of the Chant. Maker but shems did love their ceremonies and kept looking for new and inventive ways to make them more boring. Nesiara scowled at him, so he stood up straighter. A boy his age smirked at him, but Raviathan honestly couldn't care less. His wife was gorgeous and talented, and that smirking idiot would be lucky to get a wife half as wonderful.

"Oh Maker, not another verse," a man groaned quietly behind him.

"Get on with it," another said just as quietly and folded his arms.

Raviathan could feel his eyes start to glaze over, so instead he moved to hold Nesiara from behind and bury his face in her honeyed hair. He closed his eyes and forgot the world around him. Every morning when he woke to find her softness in his arms, he felt his heart open. Every day the feelings of loss and shame slowly melted away. He would make himself worthy of her. He was going to have integrity and be who he always wanted to be.

Loud applause woke him from his reverie. "Thank the Maker," the man behind him cheered.

Mother Boann smiled broadly at the crowd and descended with Valendrian who would lead her out. "I'm going to visit with her," Nesiara said.

"Okay, sweet Ness." He kissed her and picked up his fiddle and lute. Once the shem was far enough away, Raviathan went to the stage to congratulate the couples. He kissed Salia on the cheek and gave Redden a hug. He and Salia were more comfortable with each other now that Nesiara was in his life. It was like that for a lot of his former lovers who were married and had remained at the alienage. Time would ease the rest. In a few years he was finally going to be rid of all the guilty claws of his past.

Raviathan wanted to start off the celebrations with fast and jovial music to channel the crowd's frustration. Get them to dance some of that energy out, and in the evening he would play ballads on his lute to a more receptive audience. There were a few other elves who rotated with him so the music would be constant for their day of celebration.

"One, two, three, four," Raviathan yelled out stomping his foot with each word. It gave everyone the time of the fast and fiery jig that would be the first song of many he would play. There were shouts and cheers as the elves formed groups or pairs. Next to him on the stage the newlyweds paired with their mates to spin around in swift circles. This is what weddings were supposed to be.

At a safe distance from the vhenadahl, other elves started cooking in small careful fires with buckets of water nearby. Garlic flatbread was heated on stones to be used like edible plates. Roasting meats and sausages, peppers, onions, garlic and spices sizzled and permeated the air. Pots of stew and chili would be sold for a few coppers with crusty bread while other elves made hot cider and wine mulled with honey and spices.

There were some hard core drunks who would be soused within an hour, but most of the heavy drinking would be after sunset when the children were back home. With a few exceptions, the whole alienage would be awake until late in the night as they celebrated the weddings and start of a new year. Raviathan winked at his fair beauty when she returned to watch him.

~o~O~o~

When dusk started to settle, candles in dyed or clear glass jars were strung between apartments and set around the stage to light up the alienage as the party continued. Protesting children were carried away now that more alcohol would be served. Nesiara massaged Raviathan's hands during his break and marveled not only at their fineness but the incredible talent he had. One of the vendors gave him spiced ground pork and vegetables in a garlic bread wrap, which he wolfed down quickly. "I'm sorry we can't dance."

"Don't be," Nesiara said with a smile. "I had no idea the Denerim elves danced this much."

"What do you do in Highever to celebrate?"

"Um," Nesiara said looking around. "There's food and drink of course. And storytelling. Mostly we set up booths to sell things. There's only one musician, so it's more about games and talking."

"Games?" Raviathan asked in interest.

"Like three legged races. The children paint stones then hide them around the alienage. Whoever finds the most gets a treat. There are also prizes for the prettiest stone, the funniest, or the ugliest." She leaned up and planted a light kiss. "I liked the stories you told the children."

He murmured deep in his throat and kissed her with no intention of making it short.

"Rav!" one of the singers called. "Stop kissing your wife and get up here."

There were catcalls which turned more enthusiastic when he did just the opposite of stopping. Nesiara could feel the heat of a blush warm her cheeks and neck.

"Come on, lover boy," Taedor said and forcibly pulled Raviathan back up on stage. There was some good natured-bantering between the musicians as they readied for the next set.

Chilled by the wind, Nesiara went to the cider vendor and paid a bit for a mug. She sipped it and enjoyed the heat generated by his little fire. The music started again, and Nesiara watched her husband with a wistful smile. He and another elf were playing on the lute while a third accompanied them with a flute and another sang.

"So. You're the new elf."

Nesiara turned to look at the vendor. He was middle aged with dark reddish brown eyes that picked up the firelight like rubies. She was starting to recognize faces, but many names still alluded her. "Yes. I'm Nesiara."

"I know who you are." He wasn't looking at her, his ruby eyes focused on the swirling cider.

"I'm… sorry?" What could she have done to offend him?

The vender's lips pursed. "Was your family so desperate for a dowry?"

"What?" She was too shocked to say more.

His eyes were hard when he finally looked at her. "Surely you must know about him by now at least. Can't imagine why you're still here unless your parents can't return the money. Or won't return it."

Nesiara took a step back, shocked that a strange elf would talk to her so. Who was this man? An older woman with beautiful dark eyes stepped up then. She watched the vendor steadily, a deceptive calm in her intense, dark eyes.

He ignored her at first then started to shift as she continued to stare at him. His eyes flicked to her then back to the dancing elves. "What if it were your daughter?" he accused.

"So that gives you right to be rude to a new elf who has never wronged you?"

He glared at one then the other. "He should have been exiled."

"Perhaps," she said folding her arms, her gaze still pressing him. "And perhaps Valendrian was thinking about more than your daughter. The rest of us have rights too."

An ugly grimace pulled the lines in his face. "You'd feel different it was your own."

"Maybe," she said with icy calm, "you'd feel different if it had been your nephew with a broken leg and no one else to fix it. Or your little cousin with scarlet fever. Or," and her eyes turned as hard as sparking flint, "your brother who nearly died because of an accident at work, for which a sixteen year old boy had to perform surgery all alone."

"Enough." The man stirred the cider and averted his gaze. "I get your point, but that doesn't make it right. Just cause he's done some good don't erase the bad."

The woman leaned forward and said quietly, "You have issues? Talk to Valendrian, but stop picking on young girls." She took Nesiara by the arm and led her away. "Don't pay attention to him. Once his daughter is married, he'll have no more grievances."

It was the first time anyone here had actually confronted her. The uncomfortable expectation of such a talk had been growing, and now that it had happened, disappointment weighed on her. "I feel like everyone here is watching me. It isn't my imagination, is it."

The woman put an arm around her shoulder. "No, my dear. But it isn't something you should take seriously either. I'm Miram."

She would have introduced herself, but there was no need. "What happened to your brother?"

Miram steered the two of them to a bench to watch the party continue. "He was working with on repairs for an estate. They were lifting stone blocks to the second floor when a rope snapped and the block hit him in the stomach. He was going to stay and finish, said the pain wasn't too bad, but friends helped him back home when they saw his stomach start to swell. His heart was going too fast, and he was getting hot to the touch. Rav said it was… oh what was it? A per-fort-ed vis-something? Anyway, he had to operate to clean out my brother's body. It would have been fatal if my brother stayed an hour more. Rav had to give him an elfroot mixture for weeks before he was out of danger." Miram patted Nesiara's arm. "You're going to hear some less than flattering things, but don't let it trouble you. They're judging him for doing things when he was too young to know better, not for what he's done in the last years."

"Is your brother alright now?" She would have felt differently if her husband hadn't been up front with her. As it was, she trusted him.

"Right as he's ever been. I tell you that boy worked a miracle. Oh, if only the alienage could always look like this." The only thing that matched the bright candles for light were the cooking fires and multitude of elven eyes. As the elves danced into the night, their eyes flashed and winked in jewel bright colors of lavender and orchid, all shades of sky to sea blue, emerald and the yellow green of new leaves. The underside of the vhenadahl was lit, its silver and green leaves fluttering in the breeze, its limbs stretched overhead as a protective mother to shelter her children. Ornaments dangled from the tree's limbs like bracelets on a lady, her dress made of the ceremonial paint along her trunk, green and red from Feastday to First Day.

Miram ran her fingers down Nesiara's hair. "Aside from that fool, how have you been settling in?"

Nesiara smiled and leaned into Miram. The cantankerous grannies Drioni and Eolas were dancing two of the three grooms to exhaustion. Good for them. "I love my new family."

"I have a son. It nearly broke my heart to see him go two years ago."

"Where is he?"

"Dragon's Peak. I get letters, but it's not close to the same. My husband died many years ago, and all I had to remember him was our son. I wished I could have hugged him one last time, but parents can't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"It helps if your child is a little insecure when they leave. It helps them bond with their new family and seek the comfort of their new spouse." Nesiara sat up straight, her astonishment matched by Miram's sad, too knowing gaze. "It's one of the hardest things for a parent to do, but we do it because we love you and want you to have the best life."

Nesiara blinked her eyes rapidly as colors started to swim, and Miram put an arm around her. "I felt the same way twenty years ago. I wouldn't have said anything just yet, but it looks like you're happy here."

The music switched to a slower tempo, and the dancers paired off or took a break to eat. "Thank you." Nesiara wanted to say more, but all she could think of was her parents and little brother having to start their lives over in a new alienage. The days of her childhood had been joyous ones. How could she forget all the long, companionable days of working with her mother? How could she let the events of the last few weeks overshadow a lifetime of care? Miram handed her a handkerchief to wipe her tears.

"Ness?" She looked up and saw her husband watching her worriedly. He glanced at Miram and shuffled awkwardly before looking back at her. "What's wrong?"

She stood and hugged her husband, and his arms squeezed her tight. "Sweet Ness?"

"I'm fine," Nesiara said. "Just thinking about my family."

Before she left, Miram squeezed his shoulder, her own dark eyes as deep as a well. "You two should dance."

"Come on," Nesiara said and led him under the vhenadahl where they had one dance before he had to resume his duties.


	7. Married Life – Gratitude and Freedom

Warnings: NSFW, explicit chapter

* * *

When Nesiara returned home with the fabric she had bought for their wedding clothes, she found her husband at the table folding a section of parchment. The ink and quill had already been stored away. "What's this?" she asked, setting the canvas bag on the cabinet shelf.

"I'm writing a prayer."

Curious, she looked over his shoulder, watching his hands bend the paper into intricate folds. "Writing a prayer? I thought you didn't like the Chantry."

"I don't. It's not a prayer for them. Shoo," he said hunching his shoulder over his work. She laughed.

She glanced over and noticed the pattern he was making matched the ones she had seen hung from the vhenadahl. She had thought the decorations odd as she'd passed the tree the day before, thinking to herself that they must have prettier things to hang there. Yet another reminder that she still had a lot to learn about this alienage. Knowing his weakness, she gently lifted the hair off his neck and started to glide her lips along his skin. Though he tried to hide his reaction, his fingers turned clumsy and he dropped the folded paper. "But I want to know," she whispered.

"No," Raviathan said softly, and she knew she had him. If she over did it, he'd take her to their bed and there would be no finding out, so instead of nibbling his ear, she lightly ran her nose up the slight outer curve. He trembled, his soft spoken voice growing quieter, "It's considered bad luck."

It was enough that he would give in, so she sat next to him. "Bad luck? What sort of prayer is this?"

Raviathan bit his lips. "It's for the vhenadahl. When there's something we're grateful for, we write a prayer and hang it on the tree. It's… " he fumbled for a good way to describe the practice. "It's like opening your heart to the world, to the good things out there."

"To the Maker?"

He nibbled his lip as he made another two folds. "I suppose. I know some people do, like lighting a candle at the Chantry. But the Chantry candle is more for good wishes for loved ones or hopes. I guess you could make it to whoever you want."

Nesiara grinned a flirtatious smile to get him to open up a bit more. "What about you?"

The look she got in return, a reluctant but impish smile, told her he knew exactly what she was doing but was enjoying it anyway. "I… I guess the Maker might be in there. I sort of make mine to the world at large and whatever good spirits might be listening. It isn't to anything in particular. I think the act is more important than who it's to. It's valuable to recognize the good things in your life."

"Like what?"

"What do people write in their prayers?" She nodded. "Oh, different things obviously. The birth of a child, if you've been prosperous, or a sick relative gets better. It can be for something simple, like you hear a bit of music or see a sunset and it reminds you of how beautiful the world can be. It's meant for anything that makes you realize your life is worthy, the things that touch your heart, give you inspiration and lift you up. You know those moments? Sort of like when you step back and stop thinking about yourself and you just exist in a good moment, and for that time, there's nothing but happiness. And the prayer is to give thanks that, to be grateful for the gifts you receive in life."

"So why is it bad luck?"

"It's not. Well, the prayer itself isn't," Raviathan amended. He looked at her pensively then shook his head. "How you can stand to be without a vhenadahl at Highever I'll never understand."

Nesiara cocked her head at him, but she was beginning to get a sense of the tree's place here. At first she'd thought it little more than a pretty thing, all decorated and cared for. A permanent version of the solstice tree that humans kept in their homes during the month of Haring. Now, she was starting to realize that although the elves here didn't see it, they had a tendency to center their lives around that tree. It was very subtle, and Nesiara was going by intuition and impressions, but the vhenadahl was more than just a focal point in the alienage. Maybe she was imagining it, too much of her artist's eye coming out as her mother would say, but she got feeling that the arrangement of the alienage interior made a strange, organic sense. The buildings weren't haphazardly constructed as she had always thought when she was in Highever. The old buildings in Highever resembled those here in Denerim, but the randomness of the new additions built at Highever during her lifetime gave the whole place a different feel. At this alienage there was an echo of the tree in the placement of homes, the way they grew out in branches and had roots. At first it seemed chaotic, but as it became more familiar, it started to make an intuitive sort of pattern. "Will you show me?"

Raviathan sighed, and his shoulders hunched. "You're not suppose to see it. That's the bad luck part. A prayer needs to be made from your heart. It has to be pure. If another person sees it, it's like you're showing off. Then you have people making prayers because they want something, or to show they're sorry rather than saying it, or to prove something. The last is really bad. You know how humans try to show off how pious they are by building bigger Chantries or giving more expensive things to the fire as if it was really their sacrifice to Andraste? Plus all that wealth was made from someone else's labor and is wasted in a fire. They do it to show off to others, how much money they have, how 'noble' they are. They don't do it because they really believe. Showing a prayer taints it and takes away its honesty."

"Please? I want to know how to do it." He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Please, Rav? What you wrote, and the reason you wrote it won't change. I want to make a prayer for…"

"Don't," he said quickly. "Don't tell me. Just write it down, and I'll show you how to fold it."

"Alright," Nesiara said a little taken aback. So this was the serious stuff. He kissed her temple and got the writing material. "Can it be a wish?"

"No," he said. "Wishes are what you want. These prayers are for what you receive. Sometimes gifts come in unexpected ways. If you're full of expectations, then you're less likely to see a gift when you receive it." Raviathan bit his lips looking at her. She was struck again by how much emotion could be contained in his large eyes, and it made her feel still and wondering. He said hesitantly, "Maybe this isn't the best example. In fact it's probably a really horrible example, but it's what came to mind. I know a woman. She really loved being a mother, especially when her child was young. Loved every minute of it, but she was only able to have the one daughter. She was always a little sad about that, and she often talked about how she wished she could have those years over again. If the circumstances were different, she might have helped with the orphanage. She always regretted having to leave for work every day, not spending more time with her daughter. Especially after her daughter left to be married. She would never get that time back.

"One day she received word that her daughter had died of pneumonia. She was heartbroken. Her one little girl was gone." Raviathan blinked rapidly, his eyes bright in the dark room. "She's grieving, and she'll always grieve for this daughter. There isn't anything that can replace that person in her heart. In the letter, her son in law asked her to come to his alienage. You see, he has two children now, one just a few months old. There isn't any way for him to care for the children, not when he has to work.

"It's a tragedy, and there's no erasing that. But she would never have seen her grandchildren otherwise, only heard about them in letters. She'd have to work, and the only time she would be able to visit would be when she's too old to make the journey. Now she's going to be there with them, watch them grow. She won't have to trade off with an aunt because she has to work. In fact, she's going to be the one other mothers look to when they need help or advice. She's going to be respected in the alienage, and she's going to be doing something a hundred times more satisfying than cleaning a bann's chamber pot.

"She could spend her life wishing for the time back with her daughter, but that's never going to happen. Whatever life she wished for her daughter, she had no control over. She can let this make her bitter, or she can spend the rest of her days in sorrow. I'm not saying she doesn't have the right to grieve. Not at all. But all those wishes… It's normal to want things. We all do that. But you don't shouldn't open your heart to things you want. It's just a way to make yourself bitter, and it can blind you to what you receive. That's why these prayers are always in gratitude, because it makes your heart open to the joy in the world." Raviathan bit his lips and looked down at his hands. "Does… does that make sense?"

Nesiara took a long, slow breath to consider. While she thought, Raviathan went back to folding the paper. It was a rather pretty and intricate sort of braid. The paper was very thin and delicate with his pen scrachings making visible patterns through the folded surface. She could make out a few letters but little else. What was he giving thanks for? The paper was thin enough that it would dissolve in rain, which was probably intentional. The tree wouldn't get cluttered and the prayers would dissolve instead of falling to the muddy ground. "Okay. I know what I want to write."

He smiled up at her and finished the series of folds so he could put it down without losing his work. He placed the ink, quill, and a tattered old turkey feather in front of her then very carefully cut off a section of the paper with a knife. "It's thin, so be careful as you write. Once you're done, give it a minute to dry, then fold it in half with the writing on the inside, then fold again. Make sure you remember what you wrote so you can say it at the vhenadahl."

"Is there a particular way I should phrase this?" Nesiara asked touching the paper to get a feel for how it would take the ink.

"These are private, so I don't know how others would phrase it. I usually just start with 'Thank you for…' then say how this has touched you or why it's special." Getting the sense that he was hiding something, she gave him a look. He squirmed under her gaze then said in an embarrassed undertone, "Gratitude fills my heart for the gifts in this world. Thank you for blessing me with…"

Why did he try to hide this more poetic side of himself? Still, it was nice to know it was there, and that with a little prodding he was willing to share it with her. She made her letters small so she could fill the paper.

_Gratitude fills my heart for the gifts in this world. Thank you for blessing me with such an amazing husband. I love his kindness and sensitivity. I love how he is sweet and thoughtful. Thank you for making him so handsome and for the warmth that fills my chest whenever I see him. Thank you for taking away my fears and giving me this gift in its place._

Nesiara blew on the paper gently to speed the drying process. She folded it as he had instructed just as he was finishing his own. Seeing she was finished, he smiled at her, and she felt the familiar tingle that arose whenever he gave her that smile. He got up to lean over behind her for the folding demonstration. "The paper is this wide, so remember to make all your folds that wide." As he demonstrated, Nesiara realized that the pattern was more like a series of knots rather than folds. After seeing three knots, she made the fourth under his gaze, then a fifth. "You've got it."

His hands rested on her shoulders, his fingers slipping easily under the top of her dress as he watched her fold. He didn't do more than that, but as she worked, Nesiara kept wanting him to either reach further down and play with her breasts or start slowly undoing the buttons that held her dress up. Every once in a while he would shift. They were tiny movements, but it was incredibly distracting when she wanted him to do other things. His hands left when she was two thirds of the way done. "The fold is different here. When you hang the paper up, it has to fold inside here, like this," he said demonstrating. "That way you can loop it around a branch."

"Makes sense."

"Then the rest is the same kind of folds you've been doing."

"Got it." Then, instead of his hands with their tender invasion, his fingertips caressed her bare shoulders. Sometimes she felt impossibly lustful around him, and occasionally the worries that he might think she was loose would return. She wanted him to touch her and undress her, right there in the main room. How could he respect a wife like that? But then he would look at her with hunger, like he never seemed to have enough. She continued to work under his supervision, and she wondered why this lighter touch seemed worse than when his fingertips had gone under her dress. The thick, many layered cloth of her dress helped hide the aroused points of her breasts but chaffed her too.

"Okay," said Raviathan. "Now the final fold." His hands wrapped around hers to demonstrate the last knot that served to keep the paper from unraveling. His lips weren't touching her ear, but she could feel the lightness of his breath. Instead of fantasizing about what she wanted him to do, Nesiara took perverse pleasure in the frustration he was causing. "There. If you're ready, we can go hang them up."

Raviathan left to look over the fabric she had gotten. Nesiara examined at the pretty little folded prayer she had made. "So. What was yours?"

"I told you. It's bad luck to say."

Nesiara got up to tease it out of him but stopped when she caught the hard little grin he was trying to hide. Her mouth dropped open, and his shoulders started to shake slightly in laughter. "You knew exactly what you were doing to me," she accused putting her hands on her hips.

Raviathan looked at her out of the corner of his eye, mischief written all over his dark features. "You little tart. Did you think I was going to let you get away with all that teasing?"

Her mouth dropped open again. "Tart am I? Cad."

He couldn't suppress his smile anymore, and she swatted him on the shoulder. It only made him laugh outright, and he grabbed her around the waist and spun. She ended up pressed against him, his lips parting hers. His eyes softened as he gazed at her. "We still have a couple hours before sunset."

"Do we now? But I need to measure for our clothes. I'll need you to stand perfectly still so I can…"

He kissed her again, his hands slowly roaming down her back and over her rump. "I can't wait for summer when you have to wear less clothing."

She tried to wiggle away in mock offense, but his arms were like iron around her. "How dare you call me a tart. You brute. Unhand me. I should run off to the Dalish."

She had only managed to get turned around, and when he pressed her close, she could feel him hard through their clothes. "I'll hunt you down, wife," he said low next to her ear.

At the sound of his voice, she melted. She grabbed the chair top for support, and her bottom pressed against his pelvis. She could feel him there, hard and pressing her dress into her. He let out a growling sort of low groan, and then her skirts were up. The cool air hit her bare legs, and he had a hand inside her small clothes, pulling them down. Here? Oh Maker no. It was wrong. This was the family place. How would she ever be able to sit at the table again without blushing? Dinner tonight was going to be so awkward.

She felt him slide inside her and was surprised by the deep wanting moan that came from her own throat. One of his hands was working with clumsy fury at her dress buttons, and she thought he'd rip them off the way he pulled and struggled. It was wrong to do this here. What if someone came in? She hadn't locked the door, and his cousins tended to just walk in without knocking. What if his father came home early? She pushed harder against him.

The top of her dress was undone and fell, the buttons making a small tick as they hit the chair top. He pulled her shift down roughly and squeezed her breast. A strangled cry escaped him as his hand pressed against her stiff nipple. "Ness," he whispered and pushed into her, deep. She felt his bare thighs, the fine skin sliding against her own, and his pants crumpled about his knees. If someone came in, how would they ever explain this?

One hand held her high on her bare hip to keep her dress up. That hand slowly moved forward. Had his touch been any less firm on her sensitive skin, it would have tickled. Instead a warmth spread through her, and his fingers reached the mound of her sex. Oh Maker just a little more. His other hand caressed and teased her taut nipple, sometimes scratching lightly, playing with her in the most terribly wonderful way. When his fingers entered between her legs, they did the same. Light little caresses that tightened her whole body. His breath was heavy against the back of her neck, and when she tightened slightly around his fingers and pushed back into him, he groaned with a deep ache. His lips were against her bare neck, nuzzling her.

So sweet, she thought. He's so incredibly sweet. She moved, tightening as she pulled him out, opening to take him in. She wanted to spread her legs apart more, but it felt like her small clothes had gotten hooked around her boots. She tried to wiggle them off a bit, but after the first fumbling attempts decided that she wasn't willing to stop just for that. Instead she arched her back and squeezed her legs together. Raviathan groaned, "Oh sweet bloody Maker's tits." She almost laughed, but he seized her by the shoulder and started pumping quickly. Her breasts bounced, their small shifting weight making her more aware of them, making her feel like a woman. She was a woman, and all the things that marked women when she was a child were now hers: their curved bodies with hips and breasts, their roles as mothers and caregivers, their contribution to the prosperity and well being of the home. Their secrets as women were hers now.

Her climax came in a burst of pressure that pulled her in heavy waves. She dropped over the chair, tight and weak, her trembling legs wanting to buckle. Raviathan held her up, the wet from her sex on his fingers and now on her hip. She looked up and saw their prayers on the table, curled from the knot work. Thank you Maker. Her husband pressed against her back, his arms folding around her. He nuzzled the back of her neck, kissing her lightly. Thank you Maker.

He stood back, leaving the intimacy of her body. Her skirts slid back down in a clinging caress. He kissed the back of her neck, his lips sliding along her shoulder, and held her, a hand cupping her breast as he did in sleep. It was tender and caring, and she was struck by how protected she felt in his presence. Nesiara took his hand and kissed his fingers. "Cad," she whispered.

"Tart," he said hugging her from behind. "Don't you dare run off to find the Dalish."

She wrapped her arms around his. "Not without you."

"Deal." She started to leave but then fell when her legs caught.

"Ness!" Raviathan's arms were there to get her righted. She moved awkwardly trying to get her balance with her legs impaired, grabbing the chair which scraped hard against the floor. Raviathan got her balanced, but then took a step only to find his pants around his knees. With a surprised "ahh!" he fell on his butt. They looked at each other for a moment then started laughing. Nesiara slowly went to her knees then lay over his chest. Raviathan smiled at her, his large eyes twinkling. He asked, "Are you alright?"

"Sure. My small clothes got caught around my boots. What about you?"

He laughed putting one arm up to cushion his head and another around her waist. "Extremely happy, my wife."

"I like that better than tart."

"But you're such a good tart," he said laughing. "Sweet and yummy. This summer I'll make you strawberry and custard tarts, and you'll never complain again."

Her face puckered at him, but she was laughing. "I like my other nickname better."

"My sweet Ness it is then. You know, I haven't been on the floor since I turned twelve. I would sit over there and listen to my mother's stories," Raviathan said gesturing.

"What kind of stories?"

"Mm. Some about Tevinter. More about different fables. Like how the stars got their names or tricksters. Some were about my family, but those were rare. Most died in the escape, and it made her sad to talk about them," Raviathan said as he absently caressed her hair. "I have one that's my favorite. I think it was my mother's favorite too."

"I want to hear it."

He smiled at her, gentle and sweet in a way that made warmth spread through her. "Well, dark skin is common in Tevinter. That's why Alarith is dark too."

"Did he come here with your family?"

"No. He's from further south than my family. Almost the same story too. His family were escaped slaves, and most died on the way. He came to Denerim when he was five, and he says he was rescued by the Dalish."

"Do you think that's true?" Nesiara asked.

"Why not? My mother had a story about the Dalish when she was escaping. That's another good one, but for later. Usually dark skin and brown eyes tend to go together. As far as I can tell, it seems dark humans almost always have brown eyes and dark hair unless it's gone grey from age. Our eyes though," he said batting his eyelashes at her, "are special. My family doesn't come from just any slaves. The house that owned my mother had been breeding a line of elves for many, many generations to create the perfect bard."

"So your mother's family were entertainers?"

"Bards are more than that. She had to be beautiful for one, and there was no one that was more beautiful than her. I'm not just saying that because she was my mother. All children think their mothers are beautiful, but she was someone extraordinary. Ask anyone in the alienage. She also had to be an accomplished singer, all around musician, dancer, and all the other things that go into entertaining, which she taught me. But a bard is also a spy and thief. The act of entertaining is just subterfuge, a way of gaining access or method of persuasion. So not only was she beautiful and a talented performer, she was an incredible athlete. She could move like a prowling cat, quiet as shadows."

Nesiara understood then why his body was so different. "She trained you then? More than music and dance."

Raviathan bit his lips. "She died before I learned much. A little sword work and how to use a bow without shooting myself. Some exercises. She would have taught me more, but she died. My father didn't want me to tell you."

"There seems to be a lot your father doesn't want me to know."

Raviathan took in a long breath. "You understand what it means that I'm going against his wishes. He's worried that… well that I have a reputation as a troublemaker. You said that yourself. He wanted this marriage. So do I, but I don't want to keep secrets from you."

She kissed him. "Thank you, Rav. It means a lot to me."

"Anyway," he said trying to lighten the sadness that had come over him. "I was telling you about my family. So, the Tevinter house was always looking for the most beautiful, the most talented elves in the country, and took the best they could afford. Something like four generations ago, they found two elves who lived by the sea, a boy named Farraige and his sister Derya. Unlike most Tevinters, they had palest skin, so pale they almost looked blue depending on the light. Their hair was midnight black, but most extraordinary were their eyes. Her eyes looked like the sea far away from land. Deep, deep blue. His were turquoise and sometimes shifted color between grays, sea greens, and blues.

"The two of them were strange elves. Sometimes they were calm, still and silently watching. Other times they raged, passionate and out of control. Some said they were bitter because they had no mother, and their father was always in mourning for her. He would pace up and down the shore day and night, his fishing boat forgotten. The children might have starved if not for the father's sister to look out for them.

"Their mother was always a mystery. No one in the village knew where she came from. One day she was there, in the father's house. He was always guarding her, never let her out of the house without him and would lock her in while he went out fishing. Some of the villagers wondered about her, and tried to talk to her, but she didn't speak Tevinter. Or Antivan. She was strange, so pearl pale they thought she was a ghost, but her hair was a black tangle. Her eyes were the most startling thing about her. Huge and shifting colors that were strangely bright. No one could say if she loved the fisherman or not, but while he was out, she would sing. She would always be at the window looking out at the ocean and singing the saddest most haunting melody anyone had ever heard in a language no one understood. She would pace back and forth watching the ocean day and night. Though it troubled the fisherman, he would not let her out.

"In time she bore him a son and then a daughter. After they were born, it seemed that she was at peace. She cared for the children as well as any mother and had stopped constantly watching the ocean. She would sing to her children, gentle lullabies in her own tongue. And so the fisherman left with the house unlocked when he went to town to sell his catch. When he returned that night, his children were screaming. The house was dark with no warming fire and the door was open. The woman was gone without a trace. Leaving no clue as to what happened. There were no signs of a struggle. Some say she was kidnapped because, even though she was strange, she was eerily beautiful. Others say he was protecting her, and when he left her unguarded, tragedy struck. The oldest woman of the village said she left her mate and children as she had been waiting to do for years. The father never recovered. He drank and wandered the coast, staring out at the sea as she had done.

"Her children grew up wild, more like wolves than elves. They ran with their feet bare and hair ragged from wind. They weren't afraid of humans. When a slaver came to the village, having heard rumors of the children, he smiled at his fortune. Though strange, they had their mother's eerie beauty. The villagers were scared of the children and so made no protest and did not try to hide them. When the fisherman found out, he went into a mad rage. It had seemed like he had forgotten his children, but at the sight of their being taken away, he lost all sense and attacked the slaver. He was cut down before his children, his blood splattered across them, and that was when they learned to fear. The brother and sister were chained about the neck and led away.

"The slaver was paid enough that he could retire, and the children were used in the house's ongoing breeding program. Derya, the daughter, became weaker as months of captivity wore on her. She had grown up wild and free, and the chains seemed to drain her spirit. The Tevinters knew she would not last long, and though she was too young, they forced her to become pregnant. It was obvious that she would never be trained as a bard for their intrigues, even with her haunting voice, so they hoped for at least one child to enrich the line. Farraige was enraged and killed his sister rather than see her live caged with such men.

"The slave house was furious that such a treasure was lost, and Farraige was beaten within an inch of his life. Had he been a common slave, they would have killed him, but he was the second treasure. Farraige was stronger than his sister, but he too struggled in his life as a slave. He would not be forced to breed of his own will, so the slavers used blood magic. Two of their most promising slaves were impregnated before they lost Farraige. He was stolen by a rival house, and on the way there, jumped from the ship to be lost in the turning waves of the sea.

"His children were all that the slave house had left of their investment. The children both had the dark skin of their mothers, but their hair was black as night and their voices pure as the sky after rain. Most striking were their eyes, and their children's eyes, and so on. It marked their line, elves with eyes the colors of the sea, shifting grey, and blue, and green."

They were quiet for a minute, Raviathan gently stroking Nesiara's hair. "Rav," she said raising up to look at him, her eyes narrowed, "are you telling me that your great, great grandmother was a mermaid?"

He smiled mischievously. "I never said she was a mermaid. Just terribly mysterious." At her skeptical look, Raviathan laughed. "My mother said we have mermaid eyes. My aunt's eyes were a very deep blue, and I take after my mother. I've heard my uncle's were grey blue like stormy seas as were my grandmother's. My aunt would roll her eyes at that story and say, 'there's no such thing as mermaids. Stop filling the boy's head with that nonsense.' But when my mother put me to bed at night, she would whisper, 'mermaid eyes.'"

Nesiara giggled and snuggled into his chest. "Mermaids and rebel slaves. That's so much more exciting than my family. As far back as I know, it's mainly been Highever and Ferelden alienages. Too bad it's such as sad story."

"It's a sad story I know, but most of their stories about Tevinter were horrifying. I think it brought a little mysticism that made their lives bearable. I know it sounds exotic, this whole mermaid thing, but really, their lives were just one horror after another.

"In all their other stories, any slave who attempted to escape was hobbled. They had their feet crushed. That's probably what happened to Farraige. The reality of it, there were two kids who lived in a little village, and because they were beautiful, they saw their father killed, were kidnapped, imprisoned, and raped. Farraige too. And there isn't a single person who wants to know their great grandfather was raped. Imagine you hate your life so much you want to die, but they won't let you do even that. You can't resist because they use blood magic. You don't even have the right to your own life. Hobbled slaves wouldn't be any good anymore as bards, so they played music for the family that had crippled them and were used as playthings and breading cattle.

"You know, Ness, it may sound exotic, but in reality it doesn't feel great that my ancestors were tortured and lived their lives in fear. That they were bred to be murderers or glorified prostitutes. And 'being bred' sounds bad enough, but it's a lot cleaner than forced or raped, which means others were rapists. And no one wants to know they're the product of rapists either. One of the ugliest parts is, that it's still going on. I have relatives I've never met who still live that way, who are still slaves. Sometimes, if I think about their lives, it turns my stomach. It isn't fair that they got left behind while my family was able to make a new life."

Nesiara propped herself up to look at him. His hurt was clear, and he didn't look at her. "Sweetheart," Nesiara said sympathetically. "None of that is your fault. I'm sorry it hurts, but that isn't you. You don't bear any of the shame for that. Honestly, Rav. If one of the children found that out about their parents, would you let them feel shame for it?"

"Of course not," he said while rubbing her exposed back.

"Exactly."

There was a faint, sad smile on his lips when he turned back to her. "Yeah. But I like the mermaid story. I have to accept the ugly part because there's no changing that. And I know it's not my fault, but it still hurts. And there really isn't any such thing as mermaids. The reason I like the mermaid story is because I love my mother and aunt, and the uncle and grandmother I never met. They were real, and they did escape. For all the sadness, Farraige and his sister did escape that life. I think the idea of escape was what helped my mother change the course of her life."

She smiled back at him. "And you're going to tell your children the mermaid story, aren't you."

"I'm also going to tell them how their mother captured the Maker's light and gave it to me as a wedding gift."

She laughed and stretched out along him. "Maker bless you, Rav. You're so easy to love."

"Hey cous…in." Shianni stared wide eyed as the two scrambled on the floor. Raviathan and Nesiara both tried to get her dress back over her breasts, and then Raviathan hurriedly pulled his small clothes and pants back on. Shianni started a slow laugh that kept building as she watched the two.

"What is it?" Soris asked from the hall.

"No… nothing," Shianni replied, her lying voice high. "They'll be out in a minute."

"Damn you Shianni," Raviathan muttered. Nesiara tried to get up only to fall on her butt when her legs got tangled in her small clothes.

Soris peeped over Shianni's shoulder. "Oh for love of the Maker," he said and threw his arms up. "It's so not fair having you for a cousin."

"Not fair?" Shianni asked.

"How are Valora and I supposed to compete with that… that…"

"Shut up!" Raviathan shouted at the two of them. "And get out, you little deviants!" He unhooked Nesiara's small clothes from her boots so she could work them back up as demurely as possible under the circumstances.

Shianni merely rolled her eyes and walked in. "I'm here to help with your wedding clothes, you ingrate. You should have locked the door. And besides, you were supposed to be at my house over an hour ago for fittings."

Nesiara put a hand over her mouth. "I forgot. I just came up to show you the fabric… and then…"

Soris folded his arms, his face squished in a pout. "So not fair."

"Come on," Shianni said, laughter still bubbling in her voice. "Valora is waiting at my place."

Nesiara grabbed the bundle and followed Soris, a deep pink coloring her cheeks. As Shianni was leaving, Raviathan reached up and clutched a handful of her apple red hair. She let out a little cry of surprise and turned to him. He gave her head a little shake as he glared hard enough to break stone. Her full mouth spread wide in a smile, and she started to laugh at him all over again. She pulled him into a hug, and the hand in her hair relaxed as he started to laugh with her. "Cousin, you're worse than an imp."

"Back at you."


	8. Married Life – Fickle Consequence

Warnings: NSFW, explicit sex, prostitution, references to abuse, long term fatal illness

* * *

After she finished scrubbing the floor, Nesiara came down to see Raviathan working at the stove. On the table was his herbalist kit. Various bottles were open and laid out next to his pestle. The pot on the stove had what looked like warm cream simmering below a boil. "What are you making?"

He turned to smile up at her with glowing eyes. A light flushed warmed her cheeks, but she was pleased by the looks she always got from him. He went to her and lifted her off the ladder and into his arms. She giggled a little at his enthusiasm as they kissed, and he set her down. "It's an ointment. I have a standing delivery for this once a month."

"What's it for?"

He didn't say at first as he went back to stirring the mixture then placing three large glass jars on the table. "No lies between us, Ness. Don't think less of me for doing this."

She looked at him with solemn curiosity. "Okay." At least she had some warning.

"I know a few boys who were exiled." The consequences of that were known to all elves. Exile for most was like a death sentence. It was almost never revoked without full proof of the elf's innocence, which was next to impossible. In addition to exile, the offending elves would be shunned by all the alienage elves. Even family would no longer talk to them in part because of the ruling but also because of the shame it brought upon the family to have an exiled member. Basic survival with few resources or skills left young elves in a precarious position with few choices.

It was nearly impossible for them to secure work as a servant without family connections. If an elf was able to find decent work, which was unlikely, there were humans to beware of. Even with the poverty and poor maintenance, the pressure to stay inside an alienage was great. They were subject to the capricious and violent nature of humans if they left. Elves who lived outside the alienage often had their homes broken into and trashed if not outright burned. With so little left for them, it was an almost certainty that the elves Raviathan was talking about were prostitutes.

"Okay," Nesiara said carefully. "What's the ointment do?"

"A few months after this boy I knew was exiled, one of the dock workers, his uncle, asked me to go meet with him." Raviathan added a yellow paste that made the ointment smell musky. "He had started working at a brothel. He was getting sickly. And there was pain." Raviathan's eyes were tight as he stirred in the mix. "I made some inquiries at one of the higher end brothels where they take care of their workers. They said he was having a reaction to the men. It's rough on men. To have sex that way. They, um, it takes more preparation for them to become wet, and since they're prostitutes, no one cares enough about them to do that. It also… being with shems damages their lining. This ointment kills the seed and makes it easier for them. So, once a month I prepare this and give it to him. One of the other boys who work there requested it as well."

Before she reacted, Nesiara took a moment, folding her hands in her lap as she did so. Exile was never handed down easily. Those elves had done harm to their fellows in order to get that sentence. "Does anyone know about this?"

"No one. They think I'm getting supplies. Sometimes I am."

"I'm not sure I'm okay with this." Neciara nibbled the inside of her lip. Raviathan put his head down and turned back to the stove. If anyone did know it would make him look bad, a traitor to the alienage. He wouldn't be exiled, but the other elves would turn cold. The young men might try to fight him for betraying the alienage. Valendrian was a fair man, and wise, but even he would have some harsh words for her husband. He was already having problems. They didn't need to complicate it. Still, he was trusting her. "Were you friends?"

"No. We knew each other. That's about all." Raviathan lifted off the pot and poured the hot ointment in the three jars, scraping out as much as he could with a spatula that was set aside for his specialized brews. "They need to cool before I can seal them." He put the pot and spatula in the tub for washing before returning to caress her cheek. "Don't think less of me."

Nesiara took his hand, and he sat next to her. "Why were they exiled?"

"The boy who contacted me beat his father once. Almost killed him. The other boy was caught having sex and hitting the girl for cheating on him. The two of them were both exiled. Everyone was sure she had a second, but the boy she named denied it and was sent to another alienage. I don't know what happened to her." He looked at Nesiara sorrowfully. "I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't help him, but he looked so bad, Ness. He was humiliated and suffering. His life was already turning into a nightmare. I just… it was bad enough as it was."

He was risking too much by helping them. Should she tell him to stop? If he were caught, it would risk her, their father, and future children. His cousins too. Everyone who cared about him. Nesiara looked down at his graceful hand in her thick, calloused ones. "Don't get caught."

He stood and pulled her into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Ness."

"Are you going today?"

"Yes," he said holding her close. "Just after lunch."

Time to let the heavy subject go. Eolas had told her to laugh instead of spending days in tears. He would be careful. He trusted her, so she would trust him. "So," she said suggestively, "we have until lunch. Whatever shall we do with the time?"

"No idea," he teased back. "Does my lovely wife have some task that she requires of me?"

"Task? I wouldn't want to over work you. Be awful if I was called a nag or shrew this early on."

He kissed her, pressing their bodies even closer. "Not a task then. A favor? Certainly no chore."

"How about activity? Does that sound more pleasant?"

"Activity," he mused. "Sounds like an appropriate use of our time."

Grinning, she led the way back up the ladder. As she was climbing his hand slid up inside her dress to caress her thigh, making her blood thrum pleasantly in anticipation. She hoped he would never get tired of her. As she tried to go up the next step, her dress pulled. "Rav, what are you…?"

Oh Maker no. He was under her dress, his mouth at the back of her knee just above her stocking. What had been pleasant anticipation turned almost painfully tight as his mouth travelled slowly up her thigh. "No. Rav no." He paid her no mind, his kisses wet, sensuous, and slowly rising. "Not here. Please."

"The door is locked," he said nibbling at the back of her thigh. He reached up, both hands caressing up her legs, and very slowly pulled down her small clothes. Oh please Maker not this. What's he doing? Her dress, caught on his shoulders, rumpled and climbed, exposing more of her legs. He lifted one of her legs, her small clothes slipping off, to rest against his chest. It felt strange to be almost fully clothed, too confining, as if her skin was caged and wanting freedom. His breath on the back of her thighs was the only freedom her body had from her clinging dress. How far was he going to go?

"Rav," she moaned moving her thigh wide to give him more room.

"Yes, my dearest wife?" he said laughing silently.

"If you're laughing at me…" she warned as her back arched involuntarily. He had seen her most hidden parts many times, but not like this. Never like this.

He was just past midway. "What, my dearest? What will happen?" he asked, his lips brushing her inner thigh as he spoke. He nuzzled her there, his teeth grazing her skin, before continuing in further with slow kisses.

"I'll… I'll squeeze your head."

"Oooh. That might not be so bad." His tongue flicked out high on her upper thigh, and her knuckles went white gripping the ladder. "I can think of worse fates than to be smothered between your legs." He bit her gently on the cleft of her bottom. The ache was becoming painful. His kissed her, licked her, nibbled her burning skin. "By the flames, Ness," he said letting his tongue roam high on her inner thigh, "your skin is so sweet."

"And you call me the tease," she whispered breathily. "Brute." She wanted to feel him slide inside her. The blood in her groin was throbbing for it. She could feel her quick and steady pulse calling out for him. She wanted out of her clothes and have him spread her legs apart and take his pleasure hard.

He shifted, his cool hair sliding like silk against her thighs, as he turned around. She cried out as the throbbing got worse, and then he licked her. There. She clenched tight, her breathing ragged. What had he just done? What in the Maker's name had he just done? It was even worse now with his tongue sliding up and down her tight slit. She cried out in a mix of panic, embarrassment, and shock, and clutched the ladder rungs. His mouth was sucking at her, his tongue squeezing in between her tightened lips. Oh no, oh no-no-no-no, what would he think of her? She cried out again, pained and wanting him.

One of his hands moved from holding her buttock to feeling inside her lips. She couldn't stay tight, and when she was forced open, his tongue wiggled back and forth tasting her. Please, Rav please don't be disgusted with me. His fingers penetrated her, moving forcefully up and down, pressing her forward. His tongue was so strong as he tasted every inch of her wet folds.

All at once the tight throbbing all moved away as if pulled into another world, and a warmth spread from her groin down her legs and up her body in pulsing tidal waves. She could feel it flush into her chest and stiffen her nipples, and down to the back of her knees as if steaming hot water were pouring down her legs. She wondered if she had lost control of her bladder. She couldn't tell. His tongue continued to lick at her, so a part of her guessed she hadn't.

Tears poured out of her eyes, and then her body tightened as if everything was pulled to a line running up her center. There was no controlling her voice, and her deep uncensored moan filled the room. The painful tightening loosened, unwinding inside her, and she would have collapse if her dearest, loving husband hadn't been holding her up. "Ra-av?" It sounded like his name had been wrung from her throat.

Still that tongue. Was he sucking at her? She could feel his lips fastened on her, his hand rubbing at a spot that felt like all the nerves of her body were connected to, and his glorious tongue. Her back arched, her butt sticking out ungracefully, and she wailed as her body seemed to twist inside her, driving her to his tongue. Her stomach and legs quivered, and her arms trembled as she tried to hold on. Oh Maker please, and her tears continued to pour out.

Her body had never felt so heavy before. Raviathan had to slowly and carefully get her legs back on the ladder. Once he was out from under her skirt, he pulled her back so she fell in his arms. There was no way she would have been able to stand let alone climb up. She kept noticing the subtle shifts of her dress against her butt and hips. Without her small clothes on she felt that much nearer to him even though she was otherwise fully dressed. So odd. He put her on the one of the comfortable chairs, but she didn't want to let go. Ever.

"Just let me get cleaned up."

"Mmmph," Nesiara said. She wanted to curl up and sleep on him. Instead she watched him wash his face and rinse out his mouth. His hair was tussled. When finished, he put a mint leaf in his mouth to chew, pulled her out of the chair then had her sit in his lap. "I hope I didn't taste bad."

"You taste like raspberries mashed with honey. I didn't think you would kiss me unless I cleaned up."

She gave an inarticulate murmur and pulled him down for a mint flavored kiss. She was so loose she didn't think she'd ever be able to walk again. He'd have to carry her everywhere or the wind would float her away. She would spiral hither and thither, tossed about like a leaf carried off to sea. "I wonder what you taste like."

"I wouldn't know," he said with a quiet laugh.

"What about you, my love? Don't you need to…?"

"You scrubbed the top floor?" She nodded. "Well, there's a few spots you might need to get on the bottom floor."

Her neck twisted about, and she saw wet spots darkening the wood. Her small clothes were hanging like a guilty secret on the ladder. "Ah well. As long as you're happy."

"Maker bless you Ness," he said softly next to her ear. "My heart is yours." He squeezed her close and nuzzled her. "I am yours."

~o~O~o~

He left Nesiara with some tea to help refresh her. He had never thought of doing that to another girl before, but when she was on the ladder with her legs trembling, he would have done anything for her pleasure. Anything to make her happy. For the first time that thought troubled him. He still had no idea what he was going to do for his wedding gift to her. Maybe he could find something at the Market, some pretty combs for her hair. He did not want 'pretty'. He wanted something as extraordinary as her gift was to him. That would cost a fortune though. There was always getting a job to pay for a gift, but there was nothing that would pay enough and finding a job was difficult. He'd need to get one soon anyway, but he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her before that happened.

The city outside the alienage never felt right to him. It was too big, for one. Not enough that he couldn't move around with ease of course, but just enough to make him feel like an outsider. Noise seemed sharper on stone streets, and with no vhenadahl, he felt disconnected. There was a sterility that marked the shems, and not just in their city. They were as cold to each other as the rest of the city was to him. The man and woman walking down the street could be strangers as easily as a married couple. The two teenagers following them could be servants as easily as children. It always took him a few minutes to get use to their flat eyes and their thick, clumsy gaits.

Their odd manners and ways did more than just make him feel like an outsider. There was always a creeping paranoia that seemed to quietly but insistently hound him. A dirty look from the fishmonger could be disgust because he was looking at an elf or just the simple fact that the man was having a bad day. The former could spell trouble if he didn't keep his eyes down and moving forward. There was no way to tell when violence would follow him out here.

The houses and shops turned from plaster to wood the closer he got to the docks. The buildings were more cramped here, and Raviathan felt more comfortable away from stone and plaster. But that was merely shifting one form of worry for another as these areas were not safe, especially for an elf. The only time he went into a back alley was when he was at The Huntsman, a two story brothel that catered to sailors and dock working shems.

He knocked on the window, and after a moment, Bron came to let him in. Raviathan gave the other elf his hard case then slipped through himself. "Hey Bron. I brought three jars."

Bron sighed heavily as he sunk down on the large mattress. The only light in the room came from the window facing the dark ally, but there was no hiding the bruises that covered the other elf. The most obvious was a black eye and large purple contusion on his jaw, but there were others on his arms. "Thank the Maker."

Raviathan grabbed his healing kit and did a cursory examination of the elf. Bron pulled off his shirt so Raviathan could see the rest. Every rib was visible, and Bron's already sharp shoulders looked as severe as the exposed bones of a sparrow's wing. "Andraste's ass. How many were there?"

"Three shems. Is there anything you can do about them?" he asked looking at his bruises.

"If I can sneak up on them, sure." Bron chuckled, and Raviathan examined the skin to make sure it was not broken. "Any problems breathing?"

"No."

"I'll make a cream with concentrated arnica. Use it three times a day but stop if your skin gets irritated. Don't use it around your eye and wash your hands afterwards." Raviathan went to work, but this was an easy mixture: vegetable oil, arnica oil, and pressed cinemer root. If only he could afford cinemer oil. It was too expensive compared to the roots, but a little went a long way.

"Thanks," Bron said quietly as he watched Raviathan work. There was a fascination in the elf's pale blue eyes as if Raviathan was recreating the lost magic of their long past ancestors. "Pauler is getting worse."

Raviathan's hands hesitated at the name. "Bad?"

"Lesions. Losing a lot of weight. He can't get out of bed for more than an hour a day. Melville wanted to throw him out. Not good for morale when we can all see him get sicker."

"Turn around," Raviathan said. "I can at least get your back." He tried to be gentle as he rubbed in the oil. If it hurt him, Bron didn't say. Raviathan wondered again just how close he had been to exile.

"They needed the ointment," Bron said, his shoulders hunched and back curved to receive the oil.

"Huh?"

"The shems. They're not half as flexible as we are. Sometimes they bleed," Bron whispered as if it were a horrible secret he would be punished for sharing. Raviathan winced. From what Solyn had told him, shems were incredibly filthy. An open wound with all that bacteria in the anal cavity was begging for infection. There would be permanent scars too.

"Does that happen often?"

Bron leaned forward to give a better angle for his back. "Depends. When they can afford oil, they use that. There are a few who put a plug up themselves an hour before they start work. Gives them time to stretch. But this stuff works the best, 'cause they get sick too without it. They thought I had more hidden than I did."

Raviathan chewed his lip. "Bron. I've got some news."

"Yeah?"

"I'm married."

Bron turned around in a sudden panic and grabbed Raviathan's wrists. "Please Rav, don't stop coming. Please, whatever you want me to do, if it's money or anything, please…"

"Bron wait…"

"Oh Maker please I don't want to end up like Pauler please I'll do whatever you want Rav you can't…"

"Stop!" Raviathan couldn't blame him for panicking, but he did not want anyone to find out he was here either. An elf in a whorehouse like this was asking for trouble. "Bron, I've written down the formula for you. It isn't that hard to make."

"Me? But I don't know anything about that stuff."

"It isn't hard. I promise. Here, just take a look." Raviathan pulled out the paper with each step written in painstaking detail. "Pretend you're in front of a stove, and we're going to go through each step."

Bron shook his head as hopelessness settled into him. He pulled away and into himself as if he had just been given a death sentence. "I don't know how. Rav, if you stop, it's only going to be worse than if you hadn't come here at all. The shems will come after me."

"Bron, I swear to you, this isn't that hard. Look, here are the ingredients. You're going to take your base," Raviathan said pointing at the list. He read through the instructions once, and after a few minutes of patient explanation, Bron straightened enough to look over at the recipe. "Okay, so now we're going to pretend you're at a stove. It's hot enough. How do you tell?"

Bron read the instructions carefully. "I can hold my hand over the open stove for a count of three. What does that mean?"

"It just means that after you go 'one, two, three' you can't stand to have your hand over it anymore. Trust me, once you're doing it, it makes a lot more sense."

"But what if I can take the heat longer? Or I count too fast? Or something?"

Raviathan smiled. "Everyone is like that. Alright. Next step."

"Fill a pot with a quart of my base oil."

"That's right," Raviathan said and took him step by step twice more until Bron was familiar with it.

"You really think I can do this?"

"Who knows," Raviathan said with a grin. "You might go into business and start selling it to the shems."

Bron gave a reluctant sort of chuckle. "I'll need a bodyguard."

"Maybe," Raviathan said hoping that this would work. He laid a hand on an unbruised portion of Bron's shoulder, and the other elf squirmed and pushed back into his hand. The beaten elf closed his eyes, his hands trembling slightly. "If anything goes seriously wrong, let your uncle know, and I'll see what I can do. Okay?"

"How am I going to pay for this?"

Raviathan looked at the three jars. "Sell one of them. They can have it for a sovereign. At that point, you can make ten for every one you sell."

Looking over at the jar, Bron slowly started to nod. He took the paper in both hands and read it over. "Yeah. I can do this," he said trying to convince himself. He looked up at Raviathan, the pale blue of his eyes catching in the dim light. "Are you going to visit Pauler?"

Raviathan bit his lip. "There's nothing I can do for him." Bron didn't say anything. He looked down then back at the paper to study it. "Same bed?" Bron nodded. Raviathan put the three jars on the side table along with the arnica mix and closed his bag. "Don't forget to treat the rest of your bruises."

"I will. Thanks, Rav."

There was a very narrow back stairway to the private sleeping rooms of the whores. In the afternoon when patrons started to arrive the door would be locked from the inside, and that was the only security they had. Most of the staff were still sleeping or out front, so no one spotted him as he slinked through the halls. He knocked lightly at the door and entered when he heard a grunt. Pauler had once been big for an elf, and strong. When he was young, they teased him saying he must have shem blood to be so big. He was probably still tall, but that was it.

"Rav," he croaked and struggled to sit up. Sickness clung to the air making it seem too close and claustrophobic.

"Shh," Raviathan warned and closed the door. "Easy. Easy there big guy."

Pauler snorted and gave up the struggle. "Don't suppose you've got some medicine." His once deep voice was a sandpaper like rasp that labored through each word.

Raviathan looked him over. The raised lesions looked like long blood clots. They weren't too bad on his neck and arms, but when Raviathan raised the blanket and night shirt, he saw Pauler was covered by a multitude of small leach like lesions from chest to legs. His genitals had shriveled like old fruit where the pit of the disease rested. Crusty moss-like patches with scaled skin stained the inside of Pauler's thighs and over his withered penis, and slender lines of mold criss crossed as if a spider had been weaving its nest there. Raviathan didn't breathe in until he re-covered Pauler. He couldn't get this disease from breathing, he knew that, but it bothered him nonetheless. Pauler started to laugh, a cackling, bitter sort of sound. "Well. By the look on your face, they should start building my pyre."

"I'm sorry. I can leave some painkillers," Raviathan offered. There wasn't anything for this. Diseases were hard to heal to begin with. He could cure the common rashes people contracted through sex along with a few of the more serious diseases, but this was a killer. People sometimes called it 'spider tracks' because of the mold or 'witch kisses' for the lesions, or some variation on those two names. Both terms had colorful myths of how the disease got started though nobody really knew. Spider tracks was one of the few sexual diseases that no one knew how to cure. The only good thing about it was that the disease had early warning marks and was hard to contract. Likely Pauler was bleeding where the semen touched him.

"Painkillers," he snorted. Pauler lay back, and there was a faint rattle to his breathing. "Melville wants to kick me out." Raviathan didn't know what to say. Saying 'sorry' again seemed trite. He couldn't talk to Melville. Once the owner saw him, he'd have a hard enough time trying to get out of the brothel with his ass intact. "Maybe he should. I'd say don't bother to wait for me to die before the dustmen take me to the commoners' pyre."

Raviathan sat down on the floor and listened. He wished he had some great wisdom to impart, the way Valendrian did, but he had nothing. So he listened as Pauler talked. "All these years. Even he could tell there was something wrong with that shem. 'Nuff coins and it didn't matter. There's always someone new to replace what elves he loses. You think there's a Maker, Rav?"

"I do."

"Ha. If I ever saw the Maker, I'd want to spit in his face. Then take his bride and screw her ass, make her scream and bleed until she got this witch's ticks disease. All those fucking monsters at the alienage with their shaming and judgment. They did this. Threw me out to torture me slow. Never get out of line, don't you once step too far or get too rebellious or out you go. No family. Talk to them and it's like you're a ghost. Friends too. You're just a walking ghost they can't even see. I grew up with them. Five of us all in one room for fifteen years. Even my little brother. I protected him, Maker damn his eyes. Wouldn't even look at me.

"And shems just waiting to snatch you up like wolves. They prowl around and wait for the young ones. They don't even have to hunt us. They just have to sit by the gates and wait until we're flung out, then they take turns ripping us apart. Served up to the wolves. A banquet of baby elves.

"Where the fuck was I supposed to go? You tell me that, Rav. You sit there all quiet with your sorry. This could have been you, but you know that, don't you. The elves who were thrown out told me. Always them, never you. Why not you? Why the fuck were you so special? You sit there clean as you ever were, like tar don't stick to you, but we both know how close you came."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, I don't want you to go," Pauler said looking at him as if he were offended. "I want you to sit there and listen." A choked cough forced Pauler to stop. A line of dark yellow phlegm splattered out to hang on his chin, ignored. Red flecks of blood spotted his lips and sheet. "Every time I pee I can see the spider tracks. It's like my body isn't mine anymore. I've got some decaying corpse's body that I'm stuck in. A ghost in a rotting cadaver. I wasn't sure about that shem. Thought there was something not right. Broke my ass like he was crazy, and yelling at me that it was my fault. Hitting me. Bit my ear too. Made it bleed. What could I do?

"There's not much worse than dying alone. Bron's the only one been keeping me here. Melville'd throw me out weeks ago, but Bron's been bribing the other whores so they'll all be against Melville. Don't know how he's been doing it, but there he is. But he can't stand to be around me anymore. None of them can stand to look at me let alone touch me. I use to like that. When my mother would hold me. I'd be bruised, and she'd sing to me. And then here, it's all turned around. After weeks you still can't walk right and hurt all the time. Everything you were gets turned against you. What I did to Desha gets done to me twice a week. They'd pay extra to punch me. If they didn't Melville would fine 'em and take the coins himself. You know what happened to her?"

"No." Raviathan wouldn't have known about Pauler except for Bron, and only about Bron through his uncle. Desha with her strange eyes was as gone as ghosts wandering the streets.

"So stupid," Pauler said tiredly. "I gave up my life. I knew what it could cost. I just… I didn't think it'd happen to me. I want to say I didn't know, but I did. That's the worst part. If I could blame someone else… It's my fault I'm here." He stopped when a coughing fit overtook him. Turning to the side, his tongue stuck out in a purplish point. Ulcer like sores covered the back of his head, stained his pillow brown and yellow.

Raviathan knew he should help. He was a healer, but he didn't want to get close. It was hard enough to stay in the same room knowing he was breathing the same air. It was cowardly and grossly insensitive to sit there and watch. Solyn would have been disappointed in him, the weight of which he could feel even though she had died almost two years ago. Pauler hacked and wheezed until blood splattered on his blanket. A small red clump sat in the blood splatter as if accusing Raviathan for escaping exile.

Pauler leaned back and wheezed, a high whistle undercutting his labored breathing. "Rav. I don't want to die. Even after all of this, seven years of getting beaten and screwed, I don't want to die. Those Chantry bitches won't see to a diseased elf whore. When I die, I'm going to be exiled all over again. The Maker isn't going to take me. I'm going to be all alone when I die, and then I'm going to be left in darkness and alone for eternity." Pauler started weeping, and Raviathan put his head between his knees.

"I'm sorry."


	9. Married Life – Lost or Never Had

_Warning: This part of the chapter deals with adult themes, namely abortion. If this is a sensitive subject for you, you may wish to skip the rest of this section after the ~o~O~o~ break. _

"The old knight was really drunk," Nesiara said as she watched Raviathan mop up the shop floor. She was sitting on the counter, legs dangling over the side. "He couldn't figure out how to get out of the alienage. He fell and knocked his helmet sideways then staggered around and ran into a house. My sister threw up a stone so it would land on him and said, 'it's raining. Ser knight, you should hurry or you might rust.' We all started throwing stones so they would land on him and ran in a wide circle around him crying 'it's raining, it's raining.' The knight kept stumbling about going, 'Eh? Eh? What's this?' Then we started chanting, 'Life's unjust, you shall rust, Statue still, you'll roll downhill.' Then my sister said, "Ser knight, please come this way. We'll help you out.' We must have circled him around the alienage ten times, running him into every building on the way."

"And I thought I was a trouble maker." Raviathan leaned on a wall as he laughed.

"Get this. When we went to the Chantry that week, I saw him talking to another man. He said, 'that storm came on all a sudden. Devilish hail it was too. Those poor little elven children must have been bruised by it, but they wouldn't leave me, Maker bless them. Not until I was back in the city proper.'"

"We're closed," Raviathan called when there was a knock at the door. Finished with the mopping, he went to his wife and kissed her wrist. "And here I thought you were smitten for shems."

"Not all of them," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "And we didn't hurt him. Just had a bit of fun."

He was about to say something when there was another knock. He raised one eyebrow in annoyance. "I said we're closed."

"Please," Nola said from outside. "I was supposed to get an onion for dinner, and I forgot."

Lips pressed, Raviathan opened the door. "One bit and hurry up."

She came in, head bowed, but stopped in surprise when she saw Nesiara sitting on the counter. "Oh. I didn't…"

"Get your onion, one bit," Raviathan reminded her, and Nesiara wondered at the harshness of his tone.

"Ah…" Nola lowered her head further and hurried to the counter to leave the coin then picked up an onion without examining it.

"Wait," Nesiara said. "I'm still learning names. You are…?" Nola briefly turned in her direction without looking at her then ran out the store. "What was that about?"

Raviathan went to hold her and rested his head on her chest. "Alarith says she has a crush on me."

"Yeah, that's the look of it. Have you talked to her about it?"

"She'll get over it." Raviathan kissed her the base of her neck. His lips lingered over her fine skin to caress her.

"You should talk to her."

"I think it's better to let it go."

"What you're doing is cruel. You can at least tell her you're flattered but the circumstances weren't right. That it's nothing to do with her."

He sighed. "She wouldn't be the first. A few years ago there was someone else. The marriage was already arranged, but… I wanted to… I didn't want…" He turned his head to smell Nesiara's hair. "The last thing I wanted to do was cause more pain. I felt horrible about it, but I didn't know what to say. I just made everything worse."

"How long ago was that?"

"Almost three years ago."

Nesiara ran her fingers through his hair. "That was three years ago. Just talk to her. I'm sure you're much smarter now."

"You know, I should write to your sister and get some of the stories about you growing up and being foolish."

"Oh, I was never foolish," she said with a smile. "Just born perfect I suppose."

"Of course you were my sweet," Raviathan said then leaned in to kiss her. "Still, I should write your sister. Just for the sake of argument, what stories, obvious lies I'm sure, would she tell me about you?"

"Hmm. Maybe the time I confused the salt and the sugar when I made a pie for her birthday. It's a lie of course, but our family and her friends did make the most interesting faces."

Raviathan laughed and kissed her temple. "What else?"

"Complete and total lies my sister would tell you? Maybe there was that time I was changing my little brother's diaper and he peed all over my front. In my Chantry clothes too. Or when I was making a dress and accidentally sewed the sleeves on wrong and inside out. Or when we started giggling uncontrollably during the Satinalia Annum service and our embarrassed parents had to send us out. There is nothing worse than Chantry giggling. It's absolutely impossible to stop. But these are total lies. Not one of them is true."

"Should I have you swear in front of a mother that you're telling the truth?"

"No. You should take my word for it because I would never do any of that. Obviously."

Raviathan ran a hand through Nesiara's hair admiring the shine. So soft. "The spirits envy your perfection. I, however, am not perfect. And I'm just going to screw it up."

Nesiara sighed and rubbed his back. "Rav. I've rarely met someone who is so gentle. Just be patient and listen. You can already do that well enough."

Head down in resignation, he sighed. "Here are the keys. I'll be back to help with dinner." There were so many ways this could get worse, but Raviathan left to find Nola anyway. She was probably home already or near it in which case it would have to wait. Good. This was stupid. He turned down a narrow alley that would lead to her home but froze when he saw her leaning against one of the buildings. She looked up, tears streaking her face, bright in the gloom of dusk. She shrank into herself in embarrassment and ran down the alley. "Nola wait! Please."

She hesitated but didn't turn around. This was just awkward. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry." He reached out to touch her arm, but she skitted away from him.

"Don't touch me," she hissed.

Bad idea. All of it. "Okay. I didn't mean…," Maker's ass, what to say? "We've never talked…"

Nola turned to face him then, her chin lifted defiantly. It was a shock to see her angry. She was one of the quietest elves he knew. "You have that… that wife now, so why would you want to talk to me? You never wanted to have anything to do with me." She scowled at him. Even angry she could not raise her voice, so her words were sharp but quiet in as much rage as she would allow herself. "Besides, why would I want to talk to you? You just use girls. And you're mean. I'm glad you never wanted me." Raviathan's shoulders slumped, and he put his head down. "You hear that? Those girls were too young to know better, and then you come along and got them all twisted up so, so you could do to them what you wanted to. You never cared about any of them. Anyone else would get exiled, but not you. And that wasn't right. It wasn't fair to any of us, especially the girls who didn't know to stay away from you. And… and this way I can be pure. When I'm married, my husband will… he'll know I'm a good girl who waited for him. You would have just ruined that. So I'm glad."

He had never heard that many words out of Nola in a week let alone in one speech. "You're right," he said quietly. "I never meant to hurt anyone. But that doesn't excuse the fact that I did anyway." What could he say? It was true that he hurt the other girls, and they both knew it. He felt like a fool staring at her shoes, but he was too ashamed to look her in the face. It was embarrassing that everyone knew about him and what he'd done. If he knew Nesiara was going to be his wife, he would have been much more careful with who he shared himself with. It was supposed to be special, and right now, with Nola staring at him, he felt like a pair of soiled old boots. "I, um, I just wanted to say that your husband is going to be very lucky. I always thought you were a good person. You were always so devout. I didn't think you'd… anyway. If you're happy, then I guess it was for the best. And I am sorry."

Ness, why did you make me do this? Raviathan folded his arms over his stomach and left. Maybe this wasn't as bad as Jaslyn, but that didn't mean it wasn't a disaster. There were times he wondered if he'd ever be able to hold his head up in the alienage. Once he was out of the alley, he jogged back to his apartment ready to be rid of these feelings. Ness would be there, and he wanted to hold her and smell her hair and forget about everything else.

A young boy with old eyes the color of jade stepped out when Raviathan was halfway down the main street. "Justen? What are you doing out here?"

"I don't want to go home."

Raviathan kneeled down, and Justen wrapped his arms around his cousin's neck. "Sweetheart," Raviathan said as he stood with Justen in his arms, "you know it's dangerous for you to be out so late. And it's getting cold. What were you going to do?"

"I don't know," he said burring his face in Raviathan's neck.

Ever since his sister had been taken to the Circle a year ago, his family had been strained. Raviathan kissed his little cousin and squeezed him tight. "Let me talk to your parents. If it's alright with them, you can stay at my place tonight." He felt Justen's tears against his neck but there was no accompanying shake that most children had when they cried. "Hey little bear. Don't you ever forget I love you. And your sister loves you even if she's far away. And your parents love you too. They're just hurting right now." He ran his nose up the long ridge of Justen's ear. In another year or two, the boy would be too old for that, but for now it was a comfort. "You know, I really miss Eldwyn."

"Me too," Justen said in a tiny voice.

"You remember what she looks like?"

Justen's arms tightened around Raviathan's neck. "It's getting harder."

"Well, I remember. You know what, my wife is really good at drawing. Maybe together we can make a picture of her, something you can keep so whenever you miss her, you can take out the picture and remember all the happy times you had. Would you like that?"

"Yeah."

A half hour later Raviathan was at the stove cooking while Nesiara and Justen collaborated on a picture. He looked over his shoulder at their work. "Her eyes were a little more far apart. And…" he made a shape in the air, "elliptic with the ends turned up."

Nesiara sketched and cleaned the lines. "Like this?"

"That's it," Raviathan said. "Wow, that's looking good. What do you think little bear?"

Justen smiled up at Nesiara with open adoration. He snuggled next to her, and Nesiara put an arm around him. "I think you like it."

"I forgot what she looks like, but that's her."

"I told you." Raviathan shook the pan to turn the potatoes over. "My wife, beautiful and talented."

"Are her eyes the same color as yours?" Nesiara asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. I'll finalize the sketch then add a little color to bring it out. It's easier when I have a model," she said and kissed the top of his head. "What's your favorite memory of her?"

Justen thought about it while Nesiara cleaned the portrait. "One time my mom gave her a jar of peaches, and we all sat on the floor and shared. It was funny and we were all laughing and she made a game of putting a drop of the juice on one of our hands and someone else had to lick it off."

"You know, my brother is about your age. He and my parents are all the way over in West Hills, and I miss him. And then I think about the time he dipped my hair in ink, and I chased him all around the alienage yelling at him." They both laughed at her story, and when Raviathan glanced over his shoulder to look at her, she felt the now familiar warmth spread in her chest. "So, to remember peaches, I'm going to use those colors in the background. But if you two have the same coloration, she'll need something cooler. Maybe apple red," she mused more to herself.

Raviathan and Justen shared a look of confusion. "Sweet Ness? Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

"You do know that red isn't a cool color, right?" Was she color blind?

She laughed at their looks. "Justen, go get me that apple." She pulled out another sheet of thick paper and a kit of slender colored chalks then placed the apple in the center of the table. "Red chalk only," she said showing Justen the chalk piece then drew a quick representation of the apple. It looked like an apple shaped red blob. When Raviathan could take a break from cooking, he stood behind her to watch. "Now, instead of red, I'm going to use blue to shadow and highlight, and a little bit of yellow." They watched as strange blue and dark blue forms were shaded that didn't look anything like an apple. She added a yellow corona and little flecks of green. When she added the red overlay, smudging the colors together or leaving tiny traces to show through, an apple image formed that looked real enough to pick up.

Justen stared wide eyed. "That looks so real."

Raviathan nodded in mute appreciation. "You're going to burn dinner," Nesiara said.

"Maker's… beard," Raviathan amended for Justen's sake as he rushed back over to the stove.

Nesiara held the apple close for Justen to see clearly as she explained. "Do you see now how many colors it has? Apples aren't just red. Next time you see a storm, really look at the clouds. They're never just grey. There's almost always blue, and often there's shades of pink, rose, and peach, little hints of orange or purple. One of the first things my grandmother taught me was to see the colors within colors." She took out what looked like a large perfume bottle and sprayed a fixative so the chalk would not smudge. "For you. To remember the lesson."

"Thank you." He watched in rapt attention as Nesiara add the colors necessary to capture his sister on paper. Step by step, she explained the process of what colors she chose and why, how they affected one another, and how each added to the mood that went beyond a straight forward representation.

Later that evening, when Justen was tucked into the top bunk, Cyrion was downstairs smoking his pipe, and Raviathan and Nesiara were snuggled together in bed, Raviathan kissed her hands. He whispered, "I want you to touch me with these hands." He held her wrist and glided her hand across his shoulder, down his chest then around his side and back. Her thick, calloused hand roamed over his back along the hard muscle and slight raise of his bones then caressed down the dip of his spine to the curve of his rear. He moved with her hand's caress, their bodies pressing and melding together. "I love your hands," he whispered nuzzling her neck. Creator's hands. In her hands he wanted to be recreated, have the disjointed lines erased and made into someone clean. With these hands he would be ready to accept the colors she would bestow on their lives.

~o~O~o~

"We need more soap," Nesiara said as she finished scrubbing Raviathan's shirt.

"I'll get some from Alarith tonight." Raviathan wrung out her skirt and added that to the sack. A neighbor on the third floor let them use their clothes line once a week in exchange for some babysitting Raviathan had been doing for the last five years. Before that they had to dry the clothes in the room which could leave it smelling moldy when the weather was bad.

"We need some to do the dishes."

Raviathan wrung out the shirt she gave him. "Mmm. That's right. I'm still getting use to having a third person in the house again." He leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder. "After we hang the line then."

Shaun never helped her sister do the wash Nesiara thought with a sly smile. He never helped with cooking or cleaning or doing the sewing even when they were newly fasted. While Shaun was a decent sort of man, and Nesiara would take that over many of the other boys her age when she considered what her match might be like, but he was very dull. She finished the last of the wash, just some socks that had also needed darning, and started emptying the tub one bucket at a time when there was a knock at the door. Raviathan took the bucket and said, "I'll do that. Would you get the door?"

"It's probably for you," she said with a grin. He shrugged not looking at her. She smiled as she went down the ladder. He had her answer the door just so she wouldn't have to empty the tub.

A young girl was at the door. She had flat brown hair in a square cut to her shoulders, a small mouth that was at odds with her square jaw, and flat cheekbones. She was only a few years Nesiara's junior, maybe fifteen or so. Her dress was too big for her and very patched. She was small, even for an elf, and the dress made her look that much smaller. Dark steel blue eyes registered surprise to see her at the door. "May I help you?" asked Nesiara.

"Um," she looked around the room. "I was told Raviathan lives here."

So, she didn't know him. "Please come in." Nesiara called up, "Rav."

There was another slush of water out the window to the back ally then he hopped down. He looked at the girl with mild interest. "Yes?"

Her eyes widened at the sight of the exotic elf. Nesiara knew how she felt. Whatever she was here for, Raviathan was a breathtaking sight. "I was told you could help me," she said meekly. Raviathan was quiet as he waited for her to continue. The girl pursed her lips and walked over to him keeping her eyes on the floor. He bent down so she could whisper in his ear.

He nodded and gestured to their eating area. "Yes. Please, have a seat. Ness, would you get my herbalist kit?" He started adding wood to the stove and stoked it to heat the tea kettle. He had told her about this, but it was the first she would actually see him practice. She wanted to ask him more, especially if his father disapproved, but now was not the time. Nesiara left with a nod. It was actually rather amazing how much he had kept from his father. When she returned the girl was staring at the table stone faced. Nesiara handed him the hard cased bag and took one of the more comfortable chairs by the window to darn socks. If he wanted to, he would ask her to go up stairs. It was just the illusion of privacy as she would be able to hear everything anyway.

Raviathan started to work pulling out various small jars and examining them. He was not mixing anything yet. As he examined his stock with cool efficiency, he asked her in that calm voice of his, "When was the last time you bled?"

"More than two months ago." The poor girl. Raviathan had told her their first night together that she did not need to feel trapped in a pregnancy. Still, as needed as it was, it could not have made the girl feel good about what she was doing. She was also clearly embarrassed having this discussion with an unfamiliar man, but she had little choice given her age and need.

Raviathan was cool but compassionate as he spoke. "Sometimes women, especially at your age, have a skipped period. Have you been nauseous, tired, dizzy, or needed to pee more?"

She looked at her hands squirming. She said quietly, "I have been more tired. My friend said she was… had aches. Here," she indicated her breasts with a quick wave.

Raviathan's voice remained soothing. He had a surprisingly powerful baritone and was often soft spoken to cover it the way some tall people slouched. "That is a symptom. It could also be that you're still growing. Have you felt anything else? Do you want some foods more or less? Some women get a burning in their chests or feel breathless."

"I don't want milk or cheese," she said hurriedly. "I use to love milk, but just the thought makes me sick. Um, smells are stronger. More sour. I'm getting headaches. I want to cry all the time."

Raviathan sat down next to her and patted her hand. He said softly, "It's okay. We're going to make sure you're all right. No one will ever know unless you want to tell them."

She sniffed and nodded. "I didn't know what to do." The tears started to flow. "I overheard one of the servants talking about you, how you helped her brother who had pneumonia. I can't do this. I can't. They'll get rid of me."

Raviathan rubbed her shoulder and held one hand over hers. "I can make a tea. I'm afraid I can't add any sugar or honey. It'll change the composition too much. You'll need to drink it all. The good news is you can still have children in the future. There will be some bleeding for the next few days, but it should be less than a normal period. If you bleed for more than four days, or if there is a lot of blood, come back here immediately. Sometimes there might be some cramping, just like when you normally bleed. Again, if it's too much, come back here. You'll be tired for the next few days. If possible try and switch your chores with someone else. No sex for a week at least. A month is better."

He rubbed her shoulder again as she gave a hiccupping sob. "I…I'll try."

There was a hesitancy that caught both their attention. Raviathan held her hand and leaned down to try and look her in the eye. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I…" she looked up at him miserably. "I'm an orphan. I work for Lord Braden. If…if I refuse him, he'll send me into the streets. I can't… I can't…"

Raviathan's brow creased in pain, and he put an arm around the girl. Nesiara took the other chair next to the girl to hold her hand. Raviathan said trying to keep the anger from his voice, "What that man is doing, he has no right. He has no right. You don't have to live like that. Why don't you move to the orphanage here?"

She hunched over. "In a few years I'll need to find work again. It'll be the same all over again, but I won't have a dowry. No one will take me. Especially… after I've been… with him."

"That's not true," Nesiara said firmly. "It's like Rav said. No one will know. Girls break their skin all the time when they're young and playing. Your husband doesn't have to know."

Raviathan looked up at Nesiara. "Alarith is looking for a new assistant." He patted the girl's shoulder, "It's part time work. You'll have to clean the shop, run errands, and learn how to do some bookkeeping. He'll be willing to hold your earnings for you while you live in the orphanage. You'll still have a dowry."

Nesiara smiled gently at the girl. "See. It's not so bad. If you move here, Rav can watch you for the next few days, and you can recover in peace. There's work too."

"Would you move to the alienage if you had a job?" Raviathan asked.

The girl hiccupped again. "I suppose so."

"I'll talk to Alarith as soon as we're done" Raviathan said. "If the job is still open."

"I'll ask now," said Nesiara. "I'll be back before you're done."

She heard Raviathan say as she left, "Even without a job, you need to get away from that man."

The door closed, and Raviathan stood to make the mix. "Now you have to be sure that this is what you want. Don't worry about that lord. You can still have the child. Valendrian, our elder, will support you, that you had no choice in the matter."

She shook her head sadly but firmly. "I don't want it. It gives me nightmares just thinking about it."

Raviathan patted her shoulder and began to work. He had his pestle out and added ingredients to an empty cup, a mug, and his pestle. "I just want to be clear. Once you drink this, there's no going back."

She looked up at him with large eyes. "You said I could still have children."

"You can," he assured. "Just not this one."

"That's fine." Her hands clutched together as she looked down in barely contained anger. "I don't want that sick shem's baby."

Raviathan started to grind the little roots and herbs in the pestle. "Will you leave then?"

She looked back up at him, her tears made the natural shine in her eyes stronger. "I can't." At Raviathan's silent question she said, "You don't know him. It's like he wants to own me. If I leave, he'll come after me."

"Shems rarely come here. Never the nobles. Leave quietly and he'll never know this is where you came."

She heaved in a breath and ground the heal of her clenched hand into her eye. "There are other servants from the alienage who work there. They'll tell him just to get a bit of coin." She heaved another breath. "It's not that bad. I'll get through it, and when I'm old enough, I'll move to another alienage where they don't know me."

Raviathan added water to the mug to let the herbs steep. He took a tiny bottle filled with a dark liquid and added five drops. "What's your name?"

Steel blue eyes looked up. "Please. I just want to get rid of it."

"I know," he said gently. "I'd just like to say something other than 'hey you'."

"Isa."

"Isa. Would you be willing to talk to our hahren after we're finished here?" She looked at her hands considering. He added three drops of a pale amber oil to the cup along with the herb mix in the pestle and measured a tiny pile of what looked like yellow crystalline sand on one finger that went into the hot water. Once that was finished he stirred the mix in the mug rapidly. The herb and oil scents added to the wood fire along with a bitter, acidic scent. Raviathan, satisfied the solution was mixed enough, added the contents of the cup to the mug and stirred slowly.

"I…" she began. "I heard he's a good man."

"I respect him a great deal." Raviathan put the cup in front of her. "This will taste bad. Best to drink it quickly."

She wrapped her hands around the cup. "No one will know?"

Raviathan sat next to her. "Only the three of us. Ness won't say a word. Neither will I."

"Alright. I'll talk to him," she said and downed the mix as quickly as she could.

~o~O~o~

"Father will be home soon," said Raviathan. They had to air out the room to get rid of the lingering scent of the tea mixture.

"Have you had to make that mix often?" Nesiara asked as she finished chopping the vegetables for dinner.

"Um. A few times," Raviathan said reluctantly. "It's usually women who already have children. They can't afford any more." Nesiara nodded understanding the sense of that. He wasn't going to tell her about the time Garath dragged his crying wife to their apartment once. Garath had demanded he make the mix for her. Children were normally valued due to the low elven birthrate, but they had four children already, remarkable for an elven family, but they were struggling. Garath was big for an elf, about the size of a human woman. His wife wouldn't look at either of them. She was sobbing and beyond words. Raviathan refused. When Garath started to get physical, Raviathan threatened him with a kitchen knife. A few weeks later Valendrian came to his door with the woman in tow. He had to bandage the woman up and splint her arm after her husband had thrown her down the stairs. That was when he got stern warnings from both his father and Valendrian. Just like Solyn, it would be only too easy for the wrong thing to happen.

It was one of those situations that Raviathan thought of often. He would keep going back to it wondering if there was a solution or what he could have done differently. While he would love to beat Garath or get him kicked out of the alienage, his family would starve for sure. Valendrian had been counseling Garath, and so far his wife hadn't needed Raviathan's skills again. Valendrian's calm in the face of that disaster bothered Raviathan's sense of justice. In truth, Valendrian's solution was the best for everyone involved, or at least Raviathan couldn't come up with something better.

Raviathan pulled out the fruit cake from the oven. It had been his idea to bake it to cover any of remaining traces of the herbal odor. Nesiara shook her head in amazement. "You win. I really thought you'd need a brick oven for the heat consistency. I don't know how you were able to do that in this old iron oven." She examined it closer in mock suspicion which earned her a suspiciously wary glance from Raviathan. "There aren't even any burnt parts. And the cooking is even." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Talk. I know you have some sort of secret."

"What? Me? Noooo," he said. "You're crazy."

"Ha. I already know you're good at keeping secrets. Out with it."

He took the chopped vegetables for dinner and added them to the skillet. "Don't know what you're talking about."

She reached around to tickle his ribs. "Come on," she cajoled.

Raviathan raised an eyebrow. "I'm not ticklish," he said smugly. Nesiara raised up on her toes to nibble his ear making him squirm. She continued until he made an involuntary, "Ahh," from her sucking. "I… uh… didn't do anything. Really."

She had one arm over his shoulder to hold him in place as she breathed with her teeth still on his ear, "I don't believe you."

He grabbed her arm and bent forward lifting her off the floor. She laughed at the unexpected maneuver as she wiggled on his back. "Let me down. I demand it. This instant." He leaned back up letting her go with a grin. She slapped his arm playfully.

"I have to say, I like the feel of your breasts squashed against my back like that."

"Ruffian."

He huffed at her accusation. "I've been using this oven since my grandmother started teaching me how to cook as a child. Of course I know how to bake a cake in it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Our oven has been in my family for five generations and my mom can't cook like that or my sister. And believe me, I've fired enough clay to know about kilns and ovens. You've got some trick you're not telling me."

"Get away from me crazy lady," he said unable to hide his smile.

"Rav. I know you're keeping something from me." She squished her nose at him. "I'll get it out of you."

As she was going back to the stove Raviathan caught her about the waist and held her close. His fingers traced through her pale blonde hair as he smiled gently down at her. "You're so easy to love sweet Ness." He held her close for a long kiss, and if they didn't have food cooking, she knew he would have taken her up the ladder to make love. Not that he was always patient enough to wait until they were upstairs. As it was she felt his desire through their clothes and had to fight the urge to slide her hand under his pants. "One day, there won't be any secrets between us."


	10. Married Life – Transformations

"Rav, can you help me?" Nessa, a third cousin and childhood friend, was fiddling nervously with the balls of coarse lard soap on the counter. If the problem had been medical, she would not have spoken about it in the open.

"What's wrong?" Raviathan asked. Isa, nibbling her lower lip, looked between the two of them. The newest addition to the alienage had been settling into her life in the orphanage over the last two weeks.

"My parents can't pay the new rent fees. With the trouble in the south, the King has called for workers. My parents both signed up. Rav, they want me to go with them."

What was wrong with that? She was only a year and a half his junior. Jobs weren't expected of children, but they weren't all that unusual. "It sounds like an adventure. I don't see what you're worried about."

Nessa shifted her weight from side to side almost dropping the lemon balm scented soap in her agitation. "They'll be stationed at Ostagar with the military. I… I don't want to be around a bunch of shems who… who haven't seen a woman in months."

"Mm," Raviathan murmured and bit his lips. From his visits to the Huntsman, he knew what it felt like to be prey, unarmed and outnumbered. Nessa had even fewer resources than he did. All it would take was one unprotected moment away from her busy parents, but even with their presence it would not be enough to protect from shems bent on using her. "Where's your father?"

"Packing up. What are you going to do?"

"Just talk. Isa, you're in charge until Alarith or I return."

"Yes ser." She had been eyeing Nessa curiously during the exchange, her experience of elves her age consisting of only a few weeks of shy questions. "You've… have you been outside the alienage much?"

Nessa looked at the girl distractedly. "Never."

Raviathan left the two with their awkward conversation. Isa was understandably strange to the other children, but he hoped time would ease that. Even among older children who were learning the harsher realities of their life, her cynicism had too much bite. If she was looking for a marriage in a few years, that bitterness would need to be softened up. As it was, Raviathan was impressed with her resilience and independence.

What worried him now was Claye. The man was stubborn with a stern glower that had been turned more than once in Raviathan's direction during times of too exuberant play. Had it been two months ago, Raviathan wasn't sure he would have tried, but over the last month he had slowly getting use to his new position in the community. All the adults had been treating him differently. His opinions now carried weight on more than just medicine. To the children, he was still a playmate and storyteller, or occasionally someone to help solve their problems, as with Nessa, but for the first time the adults were accepting him as one of their own.

A quiet red head of middle years was packing a small cart in front of the apartment Nessa used to live at. There were two others doing the same, a young childless couple and another with children already married. "Hey Beth," Raviathan said to the red head. "I heard you're moving."

"Oh. Hello Rav," she said though her focus was on wrapping her dishes. Nessa took after her mother in that both women tended towards quiet, almost subservient demeanors. "I sent Nessa to the store for some soap and a needle. Did you see her?"

"Yeah."

She looked up at him then. "Not moving. Most of our things will stay with my sister. You've heard about the King's army?" He nodded. Beth went back to her packing then, her eyes averted. Raviathan understood then she was ashamed that everyone would know they couldn't afford their home anymore. Packing out in the open was only compounding the hurt. Claye would most certainly be pricklier. If he was going to persuade the elder elf, he'd have to find a way that would save Claye's wounded pride.

"Claye's upstairs?"

"I wouldn't recommend talking to him right now," Beth murmured.

Raviathan squeezed her shoulder in silent support then went to what had been Nessa's home. Claye was rolling up their sleeping pallets in the nearly bare room. Only the large furniture remained that couldn't be taken out without dismantling it first. "Hey Claye."

The old man didn't look up. His white hair and their flashing eyes were the brightest things in the deserted room. "Is there something you needed?" he asked with an added bite to his voice.

"I have a favor to ask."

"A favor?" Claye paused to glance at him, the lines around his mouth deep in a sneer. "I'm not exactly in a position to grant any favors."

"It's about Nessa."

"My daughter is leaving with us today. Forget your favor."

"I'm not speaking for myself," Raviathan said. Claye paused again, listening though he didn't look up. "I've come on my wife's behalf. She would have come herself, but she's still new to the alienage. You've seen her stand at Alarith's? Well, she's been getting a lot of orders, enough that she needs an assistant. I was thinking that since Nessa is family, she could apprentice under my wife."

"Apprentice?" Claye turned to him then.

Raviathan thought about mentioning Nessa's safety, but that would take away from his tactic of needing help for his wife. He'd save that if he needed to, but at this point one reason was stronger as a second would only be seen as having a cover for an ulterior motive. Right now, it was about assuaging Claye's need to be a strong father. "It would mean that she would have to stay here, with us. I know it's a burden on you, since she can't go with you, but we'd take care of her. As is, we have an extra bed. In a few years, she'd have a good trade." That alone was worth it to any father. Not only would she have a better chance at finding a good partner for marriage at a better dowry price, skills among elves was rare. Few elves would hesitate at such an offer. "I'm sorry to ask, but my wife really could use the help."

Claye sat back on his heels to consider. Without a word, he left the room. Raviathan followed him at a respectful distance, and when he saw Nessa helping her mother, he gave her a surreptitious wink. "Daughter, I've arranged for you to stay here." Beth and Nessa both looked up, Beth in complete surprise, Nessa trying not to let her relief show. "You're going to live with your cousin and apprentice with Nesiara."

"A-apprentice?" Now Nessa mirrored her mother.

"It will be good for you," Claye said. "You're going to help for the next few days while the soldiers ready for the march south. When we leave, you'll come back here."

"Y-yes father."

Raviathan shook Claye's hand to finalize the exchange. "Maker watch over you and safe journey."

"Maker watch over us all," Claye said as was the customary reply.

When he kissed Beth on the cheek in parting, she whispered, "Thank you."

He and Nessa exchanged secretive smiles as he left.

Back at the shop Alarith was reviewing Isa's bookkeeping. The deliveries for the day had already been made, and with two assistants, there was not much left for Raviathan to do. Gathering a few vegetables, Raviathan left for the day. He bought a squid from the fishmonger on the way home and found Nesiara working at the kitchen table. Raviathan left the groceries he brought for dinner at the cabinet then went to look over Nesiara's work. Locking the door was becoming a habit. "You're home early."

"Alarith didn't have much. By the way, you have an assistant." Raviathan explained about Nessa to his wife's slightly annoyed amusement. Hiding a grin at her look, Raviathan took a keen interest in her drawings. "What's this?"

Soft lips pressed against her hair, and without preamble, his hands slipped under her shift to fondle her breasts. She leaned back for a kiss, the two of them enjoying the sensuous fullness of kissing each other's bottom lip. "I'm working on a few sketches," Nesiara said, her voice deepened by the angle of her neck. His hands left their tender invasion to undo her dress. "My love, don't you ever get enough?"

"Not from you. Do you want to stop?"

The best part of having the apartment to themselves in the afternoon was that she didn't have to worry about being loud. In the evening she either had to muffle her voice in the pillow, or he would cover her mouth with his own or his hand. While she had a perverse love of needing to be silenced, she reveled in being wild with him. There was nothing between them but pleasure. No judgment, no shame, just feeding their desires.

Firmly taking his hands away from her dress, she stood. She could feel his quiet sigh behind her, a sign that he was going to regretfully leave her alone if that were her wish. As if that had ever been her wish. He couldn't see her sly smile as she left for the ladder. Only when she turned, the top of her dress undone, enough to show the top mounds of her breasts barely covered by her shift, did his eyes start to glow with the heat they had only for her. He rushed her, and she had to scramble to get up the ladder when his hands were there on her thighs. With a groan he shifted her dress so his lips could climb up the inside of her thigh. All at once the pleasant buzz in her groin was becoming an ache from the touch of his mouth.

She giggled and hopped the rest of the way up intent on teasing him by giving chase. She forgot how quick he was. With his own practiced hop he was up and grabbing for her. She spun away and raced for the bed with him close behind. As they reached their bed he clutched her skirt and pulled her clothes off with an easy motion leaving her clad only in her small clothes. The simple woolen dress fell to the floor, and his lips were pressed hungrily against her neck. "Oh no," she said though she was melting. "You have to undress too." She pulled away from him and slipped under the blankets.

With a groan Raviathan pulled off his shirt then started to fiddle with his pants lacings. "You tease," he accused as his eyes went dark and shining. She giggled and let a long leg show but kept the blanket pulled up to cover part her breasts. His clothes were left crumpled on the floor, but he stopped to look at her partially covered by the blanket. His eyes fell to her breast, the small pink nipple erect.

His patience gone, he pulled the blanket off with a quick jerk leaving her exposed. With the taunt grace of a predator, he slowly leaned to tease her, his mouth doing wonderful things to her body. She nearly came from his teasing mouth. Nearly. She moaned writhing on the bed as her ache became a torment. Just… just a little. A few strokes and she'd be done.

His beautiful mouth left her. Her wet skin cooled as the light draft caressed where his mouth had been. The cool air of the room was like a teasing hand between her open legs. She opened her eyes to see him balanced over her. He was watching her with eyes as dark and deep as the ocean. What was he waiting for? He caressed her face then leaned down to plant a butterfly light kiss on her neck. His lips grazed up her neck to her earlobe, the slide of their skin like the caress of silk. Her legs wrapped over his hips to pull him closer, feel his hardness press into her heat. He whispered in her ear, "I love you Ness," and entered.

She cried out unable to help herself. He felt so wonderful. Pleasure tightened her body making her twist as she cried out each time he moved. She wasn't orgasming though. The need kept growing without release. She writhed wondering if she could take any more. The pleasure kept building until her pelvis seemed to contain a pure white fire. It spread down her thighs and up into her belly. She wailed and clutched at him. It kept building and building until she was lost. She felt it as the fire moved up to her nipples, so sensitive now and turning her longing into greater agony, then continue up. She was going to burn with all this energy inside her. She would glory in it. The fire, white as burning stars, filled her completely, every pore, every tip from her toes and fingers to her ears. She could feel it ripple along her scalp. All at once her body crashed and was turned into nothing. She hovered in ecstasy. All she knew was a warm infinity of pure white bliss.

~o~O~o~

Nesiara blinked weakly as she slowly woke. It took her a minute to figure out the heaviness of her body was actually her husband. He was still asleep collapsed half on her and half by her side. Her arm was numb from being trapped under his body. What in the Maker's name had happened? Even the older women, when they swapped stories not realizing they were being eavesdropped upon, never described anything close to that.

First step was to free her arm. She gently pushed Raviathan off so he was on his back and her arm was freed. He murmured sleepily, his arm moving reflexively to hold her. She smiled. They were both still enamored with sleeping together. Just the act of sleeping together entailed an intimacy far beyond sex. Her sister had told her how strange and wonderful that was after she was married. Sex could be intimate or not, but sleeping with someone always was, as if their souls were bound in sleep. Her mother had sat her down the night before she traveled to Denerim and given her some last words of advice that were always passed down between women, mother to daughter, for generations. The intimacies beyond sex had been one of them.

He was so cute when he was asleep. He was sexy and gorgeous when he was awake. She pulled up the blankets only then realizing how cold they both were and lay half on him in a reversal of their first position then snuggled in to the sure strength of his body. He was sexy and gorgeous asleep too. She settled her head on his chest to hear his heartbeat and gaze at his hand in hers. He had such beautiful hands. She kissed his fingertips admiring their length and the elegance of his prominent wrist bone. He took good care of his hands. Neat, trim nails and supple aloe scented skin. His voice was still heavy with sleep when he murmured, "Ness? You okay?"

"Yeah." She was after all. She felt boneless.

His arm rubbed her back, and he checked to make sure the blankets were covering them before his head fell back. Raviathan said groggily, "That… I don't even have words for."

She clung tighter to him. "I didn't know it could be like that."

"You felt the same?"

"Like fire grew inside until it was everywhere. Then white. Maker's breath."

"Huh," he said. "I think that means we're going to have an interesting marriage."

She stroked his shoulder as pins and needles started in her arm. She shook it to get the blood to flow faster. "You fell asleep on my arm," she said to answer his silent question. "That's never happened to you before?"

He shook his head. "Never fell asleep on someone's arm before." She tisked at him. He grinned stroking her back. "Never to the other part too."

"Is that normal?"

"Don't know sweet, Ness. I'd say don't worry about it."

"But I've never heard of this from anyone."

"Agreed," he said calmly. "It was strange, but it didn't hurt. We're fine."

She raised up enough to look at him. "How can you be so relaxed?"

He grinned at her, and she slapped his shoulder playfully. He reached around to hold her close and kiss her temple. "Well, who would you ask? Your family? My father? Not a conversation that I'd relish."

"Hmm. What about your friends?"

"If anything like that happened, I'd have heard about it already." Raviathan looked down briefly enjoying the way her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples were hidden but the mounds were pushed up making her look voluptuous. All the naked skin of her body pressed against him was a gift from the Maker. His arms stretched around her waist loving the secretive strokes of their thighs.

"But we're not talking," she said smiling. She felt completely irresistible around him. She squished her breasts against his chest a little tighter enjoying the darkening look in his eyes. "Maybe this is more common than we know because no one says anything."

"Possible, but of all the conversations I have with my friends, this isn't one of them."

She giggled resting her legs on either side of him. "So what do you talk about?"

His hands lowered from her waist to cup her buttocks. He stroked her and squeezed as she laughed looking down at him. "This and that."

She rose up letting him gaze at her naked body. His eyes turned dreamy as they roamed over her breasts and down. She stretched to show off. "This and that?"

Raviathan's voice grew husky as he took in her form. "Maker's breath Ness. You are beautiful." He stroked her lower abdomen, his thumb lowering to explore the heat between her sensitive lips. "I want to drink you in."

Luxuriating in his gaze, she leaned down slowly so her face was only inches away from his. She whispered, "I love you too."

His long fingers caressed her pale blonde hair behind a pointed ear as he raised up to kiss her. He held her as he twisted so she was on her back and made love in the languorous afternoon.

For the first time in his life, Raviathan felt like things were coming together. He had made mistakes, but everyone had at some point or another. He stretched enjoying the pull of his muscles and sense of fresh life that washed through him then started to dress. In time he'd be just another elf in the alienage. No one to hate or look down on, his past finally allowed to drift into the past. He'd have his family, be part of the community like everyone else.

"And you call me a tease," Nesiara said admiring him.

He chuckled and turned to her. She was so soft—clean and sweet. "Sugar and spice and all things nice."

"Hmm?"

"Just thinking about you my love." He kissed her temple. "I'm going to get dinner started."

"Then I suppose I should dress too. Father won't be as indulgent of my eating in bed."

Loose and happier than he ever remembered being, Raviathan built up the fire then shaped the dough that had been rising since the morning. He set it in the side panel of the oven then boiled barley and put the chopped potatoes and three garlic cloves in boiling water. Garlic and onions were prized in winter to ward off illness, and Raviathan liked the mild taste of garlic boiled and mashed with the potatoes. Next he cleaned, chopped, and started the vegetables to cook, then went to work on the squid. The innards, cartilage, and beak were thrown out the window to the alley below. It fed the elven livestock, more commonly known as rats, that would be food for many in the lean months. He carefully set the intact ink sac aside for Nesiara's projects then washed the remaining tube and tentacles.

It was amazing how finicky shems were. They turned their noses up at some of the best food, oily little fishes like anchovies and mackerel or wonderful foods like sea urchin and squid. Picky bastards. Rich and creamy goat brains or the fine texture of tender beef heart were lost on them. It made Raviathan wonder at the foods they did serve. What they saved for themselves must be spectacular. The tentacles he would batter and fry; the tube would be stuffed with vegetables, mushrooms, and the seasoned barley. Raviathan took out the small loaf of bread, sliced it, and set it by the window in hopes that it would cool in time for dinner.

"I still don't understand how your bread turns out so even," Nesiara said, her nose up to catch the comforting scent that spoke of family.

"If you learn all my secrets now you'll get bored of me," he said playfully, but became serious when Nesiara gave a derisive snort and went back to her work. Where had this attitude of hers come from? The potatoes were done, so he mashed them with salt, pepper, and cream. Raviathan nibbled his lip then asked, "Tell me another story?"

"No," Nesiara said giving him a pointed look. "You'll get bored of me."

Raviathan huffed. "Ness, what are you expecting? That we keep a fire salamander trapped in there?"

"Rav, I've used a forge, kiln, and on rare occasions our old stove. I know how to make glass and crystal, how to fire a vase. I know about fire and consistency. You can't fool me on this one."

He sighed and turned back to cooking. The batter was a pale cream that reddened slightly with paprika. Floured and battered, the tentacles sizzled in the hot pan next to the stuffed squid tube which he kept turning so it would cook evenly. His father had said not to tell her, but that just wasn't realistic, Raviathan thought. When? When did the betrayal of silence outweigh the developing bonds of their marriage?

At his silence, Nesiara went back to her sketching. It was frustrating not to have access to the instruments she had taken for granted in her home. She had a perfect design for bowls and vases that would look like spiraled fern leaves, but there was no way to make them. It could be months or even years before she could rent a kiln let alone buy one. All the excitement she had for creating those vases had nowhere to go, so it stagnated inside her.

Raviathan filled three plates leaving his father's portion on the cabinet. Nesiara gathered her things to store on the empty chair. She missed having a work station too. "Should we wait for father?"

"Normally he's back by now," Raviathan said. "Every once in a while he has to stay late at the estate."

"The gates have closed."

"I'll give his portion to Trean if he doesn't show up."

After Nesiara said grace, they ate. She couldn't stifle the little moan of pleasure at his food. When he gave her a tentative smile, she reached over and squeezed his hand. "I just wish I had a kiln. I'm letting it get to me. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Then that's what we'll work on."

She squeezed his hand again now able to return the smile. Showing him the sketches of the fern bowl and vase, she said, "I just have all of these ideas. I want to do a series based on this. Teacups, plates." She had many sketches, some of organic undulating leaves, others more traditional with delicate swirls of paint. One of the cup designs had a leaf as a handle.

"Well, I have no idea when we'll be able to get a kiln. What kind of crafts can you make without one?"

The silence stretched as she contemplated. "If I could get some wire and stones, I could make jewelry. A spiraled fern leaf holding a stone?"

"That sounds beautiful," Raviathan said giving her an encouraging smile. She sketched with one hand as they ate, Raviathan watching in fascination. In one sketch, two fern leaves formed a love heart with a stone in the center. "That one is my favorite. Re-creation and love. What are you going to make it out of?"

"Copper with a red stone seems appropriate. I was thinking a set of silver and green for these earrings."

If she hadn't already given him a wedding gift, he would have asked for the heart fern. It was a feminine bit of jewelry, but it was everything he wanted—to be recreated. It was the redemption she gave him freely not even knowing that she did that for him. It was in the warmth of her smile, the heat of her body, in her love he felt free.

Something of his thoughts must of shown because she took his hand and squeezed it. "Husband?"

He kissed her hand, rough and divine, the hand of a creator. "I love everything about you Ness. You'll never know what you mean to me." No secrets between us.

Raviathan was about to speak when Cyrion walked in. The elder elf's shoulders were slumped in defeat, his head down. Raviathan couldn't even guess what his father's day had been like. His father would either share or not but it was likely he would want to put whatever unpleasantness that had happened into the past. Raviathan gathered the two empty plates to put in the wash bucket. "Dinner's ready for you father."

Cyrion sat down with a heavy thump, and Raviathan realized it was more serious than he thought when Nesiara straightened. "Son," Cyrion's voice cracked. "Is it true a girl came here for medical advice two weeks ago?"

A knot of dread clenched Raviathan's stomach. So his father truly hadn't know he was practicing medicine in secret. Raviathan sat with his head lowered. "She wanted an abortion."

"An abortion." Anger and disappointment deepened the craggy lines of Cyrion's face as he looked at his son. That his father had always been patient made the whole situation that much worse. Raviathan clutched his hands under the table all the more ashamed that his was happening in front of his wife. "And how did she find out about you?"

Raviathan looked at his hands unable to keep his father's gaze. "One of the servants at the estate. Her brother had pneumonia."

Cyrion placed on hand on the table and leaned forward. "A servant. And it's outside the alienage. A stranger came to you." Cyrion's voice trembled faintly. "This… this is what happened to Solyn. It takes just one misplaced word. Just a rumor."

"Father, I…" Raviathan began.

"No! I will not hear of it!" Cyrion slamed his fist on the table. Nesiara and Raviathan both jumped at the elder elf's outburst. Raviathan squirmed, the heavy feeling in his stomach growing. "I knew… you were still… but this? Do you have any consept of how bad this is? That it's outside the alienage?"

Raviathan could not remember the last time his father had been angry. "I only wanted to help."

The long, torturous ticking of minutes passed in silence as Cyrion stared at him. "These last years… you've been in defiance of me. That you let it go this far. You've betrayed my trust in you, Rav. I don't even know what to say to you anymore."

Raviathan's shoulders bunched together in a tight ache. "I'm sorry."

Cyrion slumped back in a chair as if the world were too much to bare and covered his face with his hands. "Son," he said sadly, "it takes so little. I know you. You want to help everyone. Just like Solyn. But I'm trying to save you from her fate. If you continue to do this, one day the wrong person will hear about you. One day some elf might say something, out of anger or grief, and they'll come after you. All it takes if for someone to overhear a conversation. If you…disappeared…"

Bowing his head low, Raviathan reached under the table to take one of Nesiara's hands in both of his own. Her chest ached for wanting to hold him and kiss away all his troubles.

Both of Cyrion's arms fell on the table, and he sagged dispiritedly. "Son," Cyrion's voice cracked, "why would you disobey me?" Raviathan was squeezing her hand painfully tight, but she didn't stop him. "After… after all we've lost. I never thought I would be this disappointed in you. There were times when…." Cyrion trailed off unable to speak aloud the troubles that had kept him from sleep for years.

"I'm sorry, father," Raviathan whispered.

Cyrion looked at him for a long time, tired and measuring. "We will speak more of this later."

"Yes father," Raviathan said releasing Nesiara's hand so he could go up to the second floor.

She watched him go feeling tight with a shame that wasn't hers. "Father," she said quietly. Cyrion turned in her direction but did not lift his head. "I'm sorry." She wanted to say more, ease his pain, tell him he had a good son he should be proud of. Her husband was a good man. There was no reason for him to be shamed.

The elder looked every year his age. "Go to bed. Get some sleep."

Nesiara bit her lip in consideration. She had seen her husband do so much good in the last month. The elves here needed him, and he was talented. The templars were guardians against outlaw magic, and Raviathan wasn't a mage. It wasn't fair that they should fear templars. "Yes father. Good night."

"Good night Ness."

She left and could just make out Raviathan's shadow behind the sheet as he got into bed. There was little moonlight but she could see he was wearing sleeping clothes. This would be the first night they didn't make love and sleep in just their skin. It was bound to happen eventually. She sighed quietly and dressed for bed wondering how he would react to some sympathy. So far he hadn't even acknowledged she was in the room though Nesiara knew that he was aware of her. She slipped into the bed next to him. His back was to her with just a faint bit of moonlight on his shoulder in the shadow filled room. She wanted to touch him but said in a soft whisper, "I'm sorry Rav. It's not fair when you do so much good."

He said quietly, "Thanks Ness. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay sweetheart." Instead of trying to talk him out of the mood, she snuggled up to his back and held him. After a few minutes he laid his hand over hers. "I love you, Rav. I think you're the best man I've ever known."

He sniffed and squeezed her hand.


	11. Married Life – Job Hunt

The next morning Nesiara woke alone. It was just before dawn, and she was still getting use to her husband's early rising routine. So far that had been the only habit of his she couldn't fathom. There was just something wrong about people who liked to wake early. The memory of the night before caused her to hesitate before she rolled out of bed. It wasn't her place to question her new father, any parent for that matter, but she thought it was unfair and undeserved. Elves needed more people like him, not less. He shouldn't be intimidated out of using such a necessary skill. As she dressed she made up her mind to talk to Valendrian. They needed to stand up as a community and be allowed the luxury of a healer that any human would have access to. She descended the latter to find both men quietly eating a simple breakfast of boiled oats, an egg each, and tea. Her chest tightened when she saw her husband's head still bent low. "So," she said into the silence as she took her place, "I'll be going with you to Alarith's this morning. I need some extra fabric for our wedding clothes."

"I won't be there for long," Raviathan said keeping his eyes on his breakfast.

"Oh?" That was unexpected. Deliveries?

Cyrion added, "He'll be going out with Soris to find a regular job."

"Oh." Nesiara picked at her food. It had been wonderful to get to know each other the last month. She was going to miss having time with him, teasing and talking. And making love. She bent over her oats eating slowly. Now that she was here he had less reason to take care of the day to day chores. She had expected another month at least. Still, she could talk to Valendrian. A healer was too vital. The three ate in silence and left the home just as quietly.

When Cyrion turned down the main road, Nesiara took her husband's hand. "You do the Maker's work, my love. I'll always be proud of you." Raviathan squeezed her hand but said nothing.

Isa was behind the counter at Alarith's shop. The young elf fidgeted as she listened to him, her too knowing eyes hard with ugly memories. "Be careful who you work for. Braden is well connected."

There was no way for him to know who was under the noble's influence. Saying so would only worry Nesiara more, so Raviathan nodded. "How are you feeling?" he asked to deflect any other advice.

"I'm okay. Getting used to things here. I liked having you teach me. You're a lot more patient than Alarith."

Raviathan gave her a quick smile but said nothing.

"Hey, cousin," Soris called when he came in to pick up his lunch. He gave Isa and Nesiara a nod then covered a wide yawn.

After giving his wife a last kiss, Raviathan followed Soris out the door. It wasn't until Soris and Raviathan left the shop that Raviathan explained his father's decision. "I expect he talked to Valendrian before he went to work," Raviathan said low so the other elves leaving for work would not overhear them. "To make sure Valendrian enforces his decision."

"I'm not sure everyone is going to listen to Valendrian though. If one of the children is sick, Venri wouldn't give a damn what Valendrian says."

Though Raviathan had clashed with the orphanage matron on occasion, he rather liked the pragmatic woman. She was harassed and tired, but she also took no nonsense when it came to her charges. "Well, it's not my problem anymore."

Soris gave his cousin a sidelong look. "Uh-huh."

Raviathan sighed. "I don't know what to say, cousin. I've disappointed my father so much in the past."

"You make him proud, too." Soris put an arm around his cousin's shoulders. "He has a right to be worried, and that's all this is."

When they neared the gates, they stepped apart to mimic the human patterns of behavior. For some elves, it was as automatic as putting on a coat when they left their home, but for Raviathan and Soris, it was a reminder that they were stepping into unprotected territory. "So, any leads?"

"None," Soris said. "Work is tight. I almost signed up to go with the King's army, but Valora was worried. With some of the elves leaving, I was hoping there might be some openings, but so far nothing. I've searched the Market and west side. Now it's south."

They travelled in a circuit around the outside of the Market. If Soris wondered why Raviathan took the more circuitous route furthest away from the Chantry, he didn't say anything.

"So, how are you and Valora doing?"

Eyes downcast, Soris shrugged. "Alright I suppose. She's a nice person."

It was a less than ringing endorsement considering they were already a month into their handfasting. "Have you…?"

Soris's shoulders hunched, which was reply enough. "I… Maker's breath. I don't know what to do. I can see she's trying, but it's all awkward conversation. Or awkward silences. I just keep thinking… well… that we're supposed to, you know. And I know she's thinking that too. There's all this pressure, but I don't even know her."

"You only get to know her by talking."

"That's part of what makes it so awkward. I look at her, and I think this is it. The rest of my life. With her."

Raviathan had thought the exact same phrase, but their tones couldn't be any more different. "Have you tried something simple? Like holding her hand?"

"Yes, I've tried. Her hand was cold and limp. I felt like I was going to break it or bruise her or something."

"You know Soris, it was awkward for us too in the beginning."

Soris snorted. "That lasted for what? An hour?"

Two actually, but Raviathan couldn't say that. "The only difference is that we both kept pushing through it until it wasn't awkward anymore. It's like when we go swimming. You can try going inch by inch to get accustomed to the cold, or you jump in because once your head is under, you don't care that much."

"I think if I jumped in, she'd call the guards. Or I would. Agh. Can we just drop it? I know you're trying to help…"

"Sure, cousin." Raviathan wondered about his cousin as they made their way through the labyrinthine streets. Was courting Valora difficult because Soris was an orphan? The bonding of a family was tight, and there was no greater fear like being alone. An elf on their own, like Shianni or the orphans, invoked the greatest sense of pity in an alienage. When Raviathan reflected on his cousins' lack of family, he was reminded of just how lucky he was. Raviathan had often slept with his aunt when he had bad dreams or after his mother died. The two of them would practically sleeping on top of each other in her half of the bunk bed, but the sleep they had was sound. Especially after his mother's death, Solyn needed Raviathan's comfort as much as he needed hers. For a week after her death, the three remaining inhabitants of their apartment slept in the large bed together.

When Raviathan asked his aunt why their sleep was soothed by the presence of a loved one, Solyn had explained that their souls travelled together in the Fade, the realm of dreams. The elven affinity for magic made their Fade journey that much stronger for their race as a whole. Sleeping was the most intimate of interactions because you were binding yourself to another while your psyche was laid bare in the Fade. Sometimes the dreamers had the same dream, but that was rare. More often it was like the dreamers existed in different rooms in the same house, together and separate. An orphan rarely had the experience of Fade binding. They were neglected children who never learned proper social interaction.

There was only so much Venri could do. No matter how giving one woman could be, all those children grew up without learning the natural instincts for elves, instincts that family bonding could instill. Soris had told him that the orphans would cry in the night. Many paired up to sleep though that was discouraged as they aged, which Raviathan found heartbreaking even though he understood the reason. Those children were starved for love. Raviathan was going to miss playing with them and telling stories. It felt like he was taking bread away from an emaciated beggar.

They had to double back out of a dead end, both watching for gangs. Denerim was an easy city to get lost in. An arch could be the entrance to a courtyard of a noble, a relic of a building that either continued to another street or a dead end, or a marker of a district. The complex city gave gangs an advantage, and two elves were easy if petty prey.

Back on a main street, Soris spoke again. "Did I tell you? Shianni is going to let us live with her once we're married."

Raviathan squeezed Soris's shoulder. "That's good news. It'll take some of the pressure off." If they were in the alienage, Raviathan would have left his arm around his cousin's shoulders. One glance at the cold shems with their flat eyes was reminder enough. It was like Soris and Raviathan were in another country, or even a separate realm, like the Fade where all the rules were different. At least in the Fade, Raviathan had a handle on the rules.

"So," Soris said when they came to a neighborhood square. "How about you take left, I'll go right, and we meet in the middle?"

"Just go shop to shop and ask them if they have any positions open?"

"Pretty much. Let me tell you, hearing about a hundred 'no's in a row is pretty depressing. Don't let it get to you. What Valendrian said was that even if you get a thousand 'no's, all you need is one yes."

Squaring his shoulders for the task ahead, Raviathan nodded. The two parted, and Raviathan entered the first small shop on the left, a small tailor's shop. A bell sounded when Raviathan pushed open the door, and a tiny wizened human came out from the back. His hair was white, and he wore a smart outfit with bands around his arms to keep the fabric away from his work. "I'm looking for work," Raviathan started.

"No," the man said turning back to the small room.

"I know how to sew. I can mend…"

"Said no. Be on your way."

No number one, Raviathan thought as he left the store. Nine hundred and ninety nine more to go.

~o~O~o~

Nesiara left the store with an earthen brown silk swatch that would compliment her husband's skin tone. Spying Valendrian in the square, she hurried over to him. "Hahren. I need a word with you."

A bakery vendor was setting up his stall, and elves passed by on their way to work. The aged elf put an arm around her shoulders. "Not here," he said leading her to his home on the other side of the square.

Considering he had no family, Nesiara was surprised by the opulence of his home. Two whole rooms for one elf, and it was so well furnished. Even proper carpets made of minuscule, time consuming knot work, not the corded rags of her own home. "Have a seat, young one."

Valendrian set bread, a jar of preserves, and tea before her, customary for a guest. "Thank you, hahren."

"Now." Valendrian sat with her. "This is about Raviathan."

Nesiara nodded, her eyes roaming over the large interior. "Yes, hahren." She shook herself. "Ser, would you talk to father about letting Rav practice medicine? I…"

Valendrian took her hand between his own, his aged skin like warm parchment, dry and fine. Arthritis knotted his knuckles. "Youngin, before you go on, I understand. We need someone with his skills. It's why I said nothing for years, and in doing so, betrayed a friend."

"Then why?"

"You didn't see what happened to her. Solyn was a capable woman. I suspect she had the same training her sister did. You know about Adaia? Who she was and how she died?" Nesiara nodded. Shianni had told her how Raviathan's mother had died. A group of violent shems came to the alienage. They were stronger. They had weapons. The elves had nothing except one woman who would fight back and was mortally wounded in the process. Valendrian rubbed Nesiara's hand as he turned inward in memory. "You have no idea the pain we all went through when Solyn disappeared. Ness, what I'm to say to you does not leave this house. Alarith doesn't need any more pain. Neither does Cyrion or Raviathan. Your word."

"Yes, hahren. I swear."

"You need to understand what's at stake. Otherwise I would not speak of it." Valendrian squeezed her hand, his head bowed. "She was a good woman. There were times I thought we were blessed by the Maker to have such a woman here." Valendrian raised his head, years of sorrow lining his aged face. "For weeks she was left in an alley hidden by garbage. Naked. Beaten to death, tortured, old blood down her legs. You can't imagine what it was like. Rav only found her because she started to rot in the summer heat. Ness, we all suffered when she was lost.

"Ask yourself if you're willing to lose your husband. Have him disappear one day. Before Solyn died, I would have said the needs of everyone outweigh some remote chance… but after? I've seen people in grief. It's all too easy for one heartbroken elf, too hurt to think beyond their pain… Solyn was alone, and her training just wasn't enough to protect her. I won't put Rav in that position. Can you understand that Ness?"

Nesiara sipped her tea taking the time to consider. "Hahren, I respect you, and I respect my father. I can't help but feel this decision is a waste. If there's a danger, then we find ways to minimize it. What happened to his aunt is a tragedy, but I don't see why…"

Valendrian raised a hand for silence. "I have other reasons."

"Other reasons? Hahren…"

"Rumors and suspicions, nothing I can give voice to yet, but enough that I feel this is the correct course of action. At least for now." He rubbed his forehead, his creased lips pressed closed. "Ness, I understand your frustrations. I share them. One day I hope the alienage can have the healer it needs."

Nesiara clasped her hands under the table, worry tightening her chest. What could make her hahren fear so? "Is it serious?"

"A reason for caution. Ness, your husband is dear to me. This decision is for him. Be patient."

"Yes, hahren."

"If anything becomes serious, I'll let you know. For now, don't let shadows trouble you. I'd rather be overly cautious than wrong."

"Thank you, hahren." Nesiara kissed his cheek in parting. Though comforted by Valendrian's precautions, Nesiara wondered what danger her husband could be in. Both his mother and aunt died in violent attacks. Could it have something to do with Adaia being a bard? Spy and thief, she must have made enemies. If Solyn had the same training, could both their deaths actually have been assassinations rather than random murders? It seemed clear that in Solyn's case it was deliberate. Did Rav know why? He was so certain it had been templars. Did Solyn do something to upset the Chantry? Nesiara clutched the wrapped fabric to her chest. That didn't explain why becoming a healer would be dangerous for her husband.

"Hey, cousin," Shianni said. "Didn't you hear me?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I guess I was lost in thought," Nesiara said and tried to smile.

Shianni laughed to her confusion. "You and Rav are quite the pair. He gets like that all the time. I'll be screaming bloody murder, and he'll look up, 'huh? Did you say something?'" Shianni linked her arm with Nesiara viewing the package with interest. "Is that the new fabric?"

"Yes."

"Oh good. Valora is coming over to my place, so we can work on these." Shianni glanced around to make sure no one was in ear shot. "I got a bottle of wine," she whispered. "We can make a party of it."

It wasn't even noon yet. Nesiara shook her head awed by Shianni's endless stomach. Her cousin's bright mood was infectious, and Nesiara let thoughts of intrigue go. Valendrian was looking out for them, and if there was something serious, her husband would tell her.

~o~O~o~

"Get out you thieving knife ears. We've got no work for your kind."

"But I know how to cook," Raviathan said following the great human around a bann's kitchen. The man stank of alcohol, and large stains from sweat and grease covered his clothes. Working for a drunk carried a host of problems, and Raviathan knew he'd be dodging fists on bad days. "My grandmother cooked for a lord and taught me everything. I can make breads, desserts, and I know six basic sauce types. I'm fast too. Give me a carrot and tell me how you want it…"

The human rounded on him, his red face turning purple, the broken capillaries on his nose ready to burst. "I said no! I'm sick to death of you bloody knife ears dirtying up my kitchen! Out!"

Depressing wasn't the word for it. The shadows cast by the buildings were growing long, and Raviathan felt miserable as he left the back door of the estate.

At the end of the first day, Soris and Raviathan had returned home in defeat. After another week of looking, Soris had found work in the carpenter's hall. The job was little more than cleaning and serving the craft masters and their journeymen, but at least it was solid work. Raviathan was glad for his cousin as Soris didn't have a family to help supplement his income. Searching for work without his cousin for moral support was a much tougher grind though.

Even when there was work available, Raviathan had yet to find a place that would hire an elf. He had begged at the book stores and music shops he had come across until the owners threatened to call the guards. One owner had taken a swipe at his head with a lute case. The rejections were all the worse because he had the skills for that kind of work. More than any other child in the alienage, he had spent most of his life training.

Denerim wasn't the same city it had been weeks ago. With the lords off to war, many elven servants found themselves out of work. Grand estates stood dark and empty, locked up with a minimal guard. Once the nobles returned, floors would need sweeping, banquets cooked, sheets washed, piss bowels emptied, and all the hundreds of other jobs fit for lowly knife ears. Elves were the most expendable, the first to go. With rising food costs, faces in the alienage were getting leaner. Luckily, his father had been with Bann Rodolf long enough that his job was secure.

More than the lack of work, half the guards had left with the soldiers. Since Raviathan had rarely left the alienage before, he didn't notice much of a difference, but the other elves never left alone anymore. He wasn't sure how much of that was paranoia, but there were more bruises and black eyes around the alienage. Paranoia or not, he made Nesiara promise not to leave the alienage without Alarith as her escort. As his mother would say, there was daring, and there was stupid. Taking precautions never hurt.

Outside the of the estate's high walled courtyard, the wind picked up. Raviathan hunched against the cold that whipped around him and chapped his ears. Time to go back to the alienage anyway. Raviathan left the estates along south side the river, the wind creating a low howl along the stone walls of the canal. Home wasn't much warmer lately. His father had said little during the last week, and dinner was tense despite Nesiara's attempts to liven conversation. Raviathan wondered if there ever going to be a time when he didn't have to hide or feel shame. At least with his wife he never felt that way.

Thoughts of Nesiara lifted his mood as he trotted through the streets. Every day he returned home heart sick, the incessant rejections and slurs making him feel like a failure. She would greet him, but he would not say a word. Instead, Raviathan went to her, buried his face in her sweet smelling hair, felt her soft curves press against him. He would linger there and let the chaos and weight drain away as her warmth revived him. Nesiara held him, and in their quiet embrace, his peace would return.

Nessa was still settling in, and Raviathan got the impression that her own home had been a quiet one. Having known him since childhood, Nessa was surprised by Raviathan's silence, but he simply didn't feel like talking lately. It was enough to be home and listen to his wife. He enjoyed hearing about her day, the crafts she was planning, or what gossip she had about the elves. Just being with her was calming. He would hold her hand under the table, thankful for her presence. Raviathan knew Nesiara was worried by his silence. When they went to bed in the evening, he would speak to her without words, show her the love he held for her alone.

A blurry lunge, and jaws snapped a foot away from Raviathan's face. Raviathan jerked back, his heart racing. The ragged dog snarled and snapped, straining at the length of his chain. The shem holding the dog laughed displaying yellow teeth that stuck out in all directions. Strong arms grasped Raviathan when he bumped into the shem behind him. The dog yowled, lunging for him again. Raviathan flinched, wrenching as far away as he could in his trap.

"Something about knife ears he just hates," the man holding the dog said. His arms jerked each time the dog launched himself, each snap coming that much closer. The dog, a scrawny, blue grey deerhound, started to choke but did not relent. The chain rattled and snapped taut when he lunged again, his forelegs off the ground. His fur was gone where the chain had rubbed it off, his skin raw underneath. Raviathan's heart beat wildly, his bowels clenched. Though shocked by the dog's attack, Raviathan couldn't help but feel pity for the crazed animal. "He'd take off that pretty face, he would. Whew, would you just look at him." The dog gagged, slobber and a trail of green vomit dripping from the howling animal.

"Let me go." Raviathan flinched again when the dog backed up and lunged forward. Struggle as he might, the thick shem behind him had him in an iron grip. "I don't have any money."

"Your kind never does," the shem holding him said. Just the shem's massive forearms, straining at the cloth of his shirt, were larger than Raviathan's thighs.

"Heh, look at him. 'Bout ready to piss himself, he is."

Raviathan caught the eye to two elves on the other end of the street staring at the scene. They hunched, their heads down, and hurried away. Not that he expected them to intervene. Three elves against two humans and a dog wasn't a fair fight, but they didn't even shout for help. Raviathan's disgust for them matched his own for not paying attention. His mother had taught him better.

"Now look here, sweetling," the dog owner said. "We just want a bit of fun. You can do that now, can't you, lovey."

The dog lunged again, this time the chain jerking him by the neck so he spun in mid air. Poor dog. Poor bloody, starved, and abused dog. Raviathan hated the crunch the dog's leg made when he slammed his foot down. The ulna and radius, the long bones of the dog's forelimb, snapped clean. Raviathan didn't have a choice. There was no way he could out run it. The dog yowled a high, thin note, and Raviathan felt sick.

"What…?"

Raviathan tried to kick the instep of the shem holding him. He got a glancing blow, maybe causing a bruise but not enough damage. The shem's hands tightened painfully, partially lifting him off the ground. The dog was howling, his jaws snapping rapidly. Raviathan just got his ankles out of the way then kicked the dog in the head, smashing the animal's head into the stone street.

The ugly shem was before him, arm raised to backhand him. Raviathan kicked out again. This time he felt no disgust when the shem's knee shattered under his foot. The shem fell over his dog and onto his back, clutching his knee and screaming.

Raviathan was whirled around, and for the first time got a look at his assailant. What...? For a moment Raviathan froze in shock. The shem… had a horn. A thick, ridged horn grew out of his left temple. At first Raviathan thought it had to be a helmet, and he just wasn't seeing clearly. Some shems decorated their helmets so. He'd seen that on the dwarven made helmets sold in the Market. It couldn't be. This shem had a horn. The other one looked like it had been sawed off. Ragged horn bits clung around the outside and faded saw marks scarred the flat interior. What shem had horns? The shem had purple eyes and grayish bronze skin, and Maker he was huge, bigger than any shem Raviathan had seen before.

Raviathan barely had time to duck the first blow. The giant shem had him by one arm still, his other hand balled into a fist and pulling back for a second punch. Maker help me! The shem was huge and pissed, his face twisted in a snarl. The giant was taking his time, wanting to make his captive fear the blow before it hit. This shem's reach was far greater than Raviathan's. No kicks would work this time, but with one arm free, Raviathan pulled out the small kitchen knife he carried in his boot. He stabbed the strange shem in the wrist. The giant might be twice Raviathan's size, but the fine veins and arteries in his wrist were just as vulnerable.

The giant's fingers immediately went slack. The blow was already headed for his face, but Raviathan dodged it easily now that he was free. The ugly shem on the ground made a feeble reach for Raviathan's ankle as he sped away. For a split second Raviathan thought about stomping on the shem's hand to break more bones, but he just wanted to get away.

Raviathan raced down the street with the bellows of the two shems following him. A heavy, red headed human walked around the corner, and Raviathan pushed against him to shift his momentum. "Here now, what?" the man called out as he stumbled back. Raviathan took no noticed as he sped down the street.

The metallic clank of armor sounded from around the next corner, and Raviathan ducked behind the high stoop of a building. Three guards jogged down the street, oblivious to the hiding elf. One shouted at the red head, "You there. Did you see a few men attacking an elf?"

The red head's voice was surprisingly high for his size. "Them's the humans over there, I think. Elf headed south way down the street. 'Fraid I didn't get a good look at him." When the guards continued on, the red head gave Raviathan a wink. Raviathan grinned back and gave a small wave of thanks. Maybe there was one human in Thedas he didn't hate. That, and the two elves had called the guards for him. Raviathan gave thanks to the Maker and headed off.

Glad to be in the busier streets, Raviathan ran ducking and dodging around the shems. Luck had been on his side in that his attackers were unarmored and untrained. He couldn't afford to be so unaware.

"Rav!"

He turned at the sound of his name and saw the two elves who had called the guards. Relief now that he wasn't alone, Raviathan jogged over and hugged them.

"Maker's breath you had us scared." Giles, a raw boned man with a narrow face, embraced him.

"How did you get away?" Curren asked.

"Had a knife on me."

"Just a knife? Against… them?" Curren shook his head in shock. "In the Maker's name. Why would you be out here by yourself? You know it's not safe."

"Looking for work," Raviathan said. The three hurried, eager to be home before the gates closed.

"No reason to risk yourself," Curren said, his arm over Raviathan's shoulders. Raviathan still felt shaky on the inside, and he was grateful for the presence of his fellows.

"What are you two doing south anyway?" Raviathan asked. Giles and Curren were dock workers and rarely came to the south part of the city.

"Send off a message," Giles said. "Anise wants her mother here when she delivers. Amaranthine is three days away, and she's getting close to due."

Raviathan nodded in understanding. This was their first child, and delivery was easier with family around.

"You honestly looking for work, Rav?" Curren asked.

"Wouldn't be out here otherwise."

Curren and Giles exchanged looks. Curren said, "Alorn told me what Valendrian said. You ah, certain though?"

Habit kept everyone from saying 'healer' out loud. At Raviathan's silence, the two exchanged another look. Giles scratched the bridge of his nose and fidgeted. "Well, if you're determined, you can stand the stone with us tomorrow." Dock workers lined up in the morning to be chosen for work. 'Stand the stone' as they called it.

"Work's tight," Curren said. "But we'll vouch for you. Teach you a couple things till you know the ropes."

So, he would be a dock worker after all. Raviathan thought back to the childish notions he had before he met Nesiara. He had wanted to be a docker in defiance of shems, his way of spitting at the world. Now he wanted a decent job to help support his family, to protect them from the brutality of the world. Anything to keep Nesiara's face from becoming gaunt like many of the other elves. Dock workers weren't paid much, and work was spotty. When, if, Nesiara ever became pregnant and couldn't work as she had, his contributions would be vital. Dock work wasn't enough, but right now there wasn't much else. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."

Curren shook his shoulder. "Meet us at the gates when they open. No walking alone. Bring some money for gloves and a hat."

Maker's breath, Raviathan thought. Thankful as he was to the two men who were helping him, doubt crept into Raviathan. They were good men walking with him, but Raviathan couldn't help but feel Nesiara deserved better than a dock rat for a husband.

Raviathan thought of the sound the dog made when his leg was broken. The howl rang clear in his head, almost as if the dog was in front of him. The sound of breaking bone, his howl, and Raviathan felt sick again. Poor dog.

~o~O~o~

Unlike most of the dock workers, and maybe because he was still new, Raviathan liked the heavy scent of the sea. It cleared his lungs, reenergized his brain and muscles. He was coated with salt by the end of the day and in need of a wash, and his hands would crack without the aloe lotion nearly every day now, but still he enjoyed the work. Whatever the weather was, brisk winds blowing across the bay, sun turning from a warming caress to beating on his back, the drama of dark clouds of a coming storm, he loved it. For most of his childhood he worked out on an almost daily basis, exercise that he had missed when Nesiara came. Though the other dockers gave him some dark looks for being too enthusiastic in his work, especially when it came to moving crates, he missed the use of his muscles too much to care. While he liked the work, the shems were as bad as he expected.

"Hey there. Knife ears. How much longer?" The foreman appeared as a looming shadow against the bright glare of the sky.

Curren looked about the ship side from his perch on their shared descent chair. The descent chair was little more than a plank of wood and some ropes, enough that most dockers stayed away if they could help it. One look at Torries the beggar with his crushed legs was enough of a reminder every day the elven dockers left home. Accidents were common, though not that all injuries were all accidents. "'Bout another hour for this section," he called back to the foreman above.

After two steady weeks of unloading, the ship was empty and hauled partially up on the breakers in the shipyard. Cries from the regular mariners and craftsmen, the occasional song, and the pounding of repairs on the ship carried on as the workers readied the vessel before it could be loaded up again. This boat, a carrack called the Ship Kicker, had been besieged by Rivaini pirates on the way from Wycome, a Free Marches city near Antiva. Surviving more by luck, the Ship Kicker had limped into harbor, and her belabored seamen had immediately decided to get drunk for the next weeks as the dockers worked. Currently Raviathan was cleaning barnacles off the ship prow.

"Careful you don't break your scraper," Curren said. "Boss'll take it out of your pay."

Curren was married late, his father dying before a marriage was arranged, so he was nearly a decade older than Raviathan. His sandy brown hair was always mussed, and he had a homey face by elven standards, but there was great patience and kindness there. Raviathan watched him scrape another barnacle with expert efficiency then tried working at a different angle. "Better," Curren said looking over his work. "You're getting the hang of this quick."

"Thanks." Learning knots and loading practices had been far more interesting than Raviathan would have given credit a few weeks ago. The process of unloading cargo, especially balancing crates and using the cranes, was more skilled than he had thought it would be. Since humans were stronger, they often had to do the harder manual labor, something they complained bitterly about while elves often used the cranes. Though shems thought the elves had an easier time, the consequences for mistakes were much higher. Raviathan had already heard furtive stories whispered about men who were beaten, sometimes to death, for damaging cargo. There were few consequences if someone was accidently hurt, but what constituted an accident was up to the foreman. After all, accidental beatings happened just as often as accidentally dropped cargo.

"Maker's breath, Rav. Of all people, I didn't think you'd go in for this."

"Couldn't find another job." Raviathan instantly regretted not thinking first. "Curren, I didn't mean…"

"Pusha. Ain't nothing," Curren said amicably. "You gots a learned family. Always thought you'd take after Solyn. Ready here. Let's put her down another foot."

Together the two of them carefully lowered the descent chair to clean off the next section. "You know how my father feels about that."

"Aye. Man's lost a lot, so I get it. Meaning no offense here, but you're going to be making your own life at some point."

Raviathan bit his lips. "The thing is, my father's right. People can be unpredictable. I've seen it for myself. Grief turns to anger, and when enough of that happens… Solyn died for it."

"You know for sure it was templars?" Curren asked casting a brief sideways glance at Raviathan.

"Yes."

"Shame for the alienage to lose a healer."

"I'd also be a shame for my family if I disappeared one day."

Curren snorted. "Docks aren't a trade up for safety."

Without warning, a thin trail of liquid fell just behind them startling both men. Realizing what it was, Raviathan jerked away sending the plank tilting forward. Curren cried out in panic as he started to fall between the plank and ship. He twisted desperately to clutch at the ropes, one foot braced against the sharp barnacles on the ship. The plank swung about, crashing against the side of the ship then sliding the other way. Curren was stretched out, his ridged body acting as a fulcrum. The descent chair tipped, and Curren cried out hoarsely, unable to get back to safety. Laughter erupted above them as the two elves scrambled, the wooden pilings below them looking only slightly friendlier than the stone dock.

One of the sailors watching them called to another, "See that? Aim's not worth for shit near land. Can't piss on a knife ear from fifteen feet. You owe me a silver or a whore."

Raviathan had one leg crooked securely over the planking, and a solid grip on the rope. He leaned out and got an arm around Curren's waist then hulled him up.

"Your whore's down there. Take your pick."

After Raviathan helped Curren get back on balance, he glared up at the two sailors who were grinning down at him, their exposed penises in hand.

"I'll take the pretty one." At the first sailor's smirk, heat flushed through Raviathan, his desire to fight making him uncomfortably aware of the blood pumping through his body.

"They all look the same from behind," the third said.

"'ey cock rider," the sailor above them said waving his penis at Raviathan. "Wanna go fer a turn on dis? Promise I von't buck too 'ard."

"Hey," the foreman yelled from further away. "They're working. Leave them alone. You want to screw a knife ear, there's plenty of brothels on land."

The sailors grumbled but moved away diligently enough. Raviathan glared up at the now empty bow. Fires take these shems. The foreman didn't even check to see if we're still alive, Raviathan thought darkly. He glanced over at Curren expecting to commiserate but was shocked to see the elf's hard glare directed at him.

Jaw clenched tight, Curren stared him down. "Rav. I have a wife. A son. The next time it's between my life and a shem pissing on you, let the fucking shem piss on you."

All the anger drained out of Raviathan. He was much more disturbed by Curren's anger than he was by the shems. They finished the work in silence save for Curren's brusque orders. When they finished, Curren went to the foreman for his next assignment, away from Raviathan.

Maker's blood. Out of all the gifts the Maker could bestow, Raviathan reflected that he had an extraordinary ability to piss people off without meaning to. "What's next, boss?"

"Over there," the foreman said indicating the cargo hold. "Help with the crane."

"Yes, ser." Raviathan joined the group of elves.

Five stories high, the crane was a marvel. Two elves ran inside a large wheel to raise and lower equipment and supplies. Three others were responsible for the pulleys that swung cargo to and from the ship. The trickiest part was balancing the platform. Raviathan was surprised he was to work with the complex machine. In the hierarchy of dockers, Raviathan was at the bottom, and crane workers were at the top.

When the lead elf eyed Raviathan, he explained, "Foreman sent me here."

"You've got good balance?" The lead elf's voice was nasel and high.

Is that why he was sent to help with the crane work? Had the foreman been watching? "Yeah."

The lead elf pointed to the loading pit and gave Raviathan a long pole with a hook at one end. A few wooden boards were set near the pit. "Then you'll work guiding. As the equipment is lowered, you hook this around the rope and push or pull so the platform doesn't hit the sides as it goes down through the second and third decks."

"Yes, ser."

The lead elf grabbed Raviathan's arm, forcing him close. "Understand that if that cargo tips and drops, I ain't responsible for any accidents that happen to you. Got it?" Raviathan nodded, and the lead elf released him.

Raviathan watched the crane work in fascination. The elves in the wheel had to be traded out periodically when they became exhausted. When the new platform of wood was centered over the loading pit, Raviathan understood the directions. The crane wasn't completely accurate. He hooked the rope and pulled the cargo so that it could be cleanly lowered into the pit. The lead elf watched and issued orders, some shouted at the crane workers to lower or stop, some to Raviathan to steady his work.

Once the platform was down to the second deck, a few elves scooted a wooden board across the pit so Raviathan could stand on it. At the top, Raviathan could see down three decks of ship. The height was dizzying, but as long as Raviathan concentrated on steadying the platform, he could ignore the flutters in his stomach.

As the hours passed, and load after load was lowered in, Raviathan felt calm, happy even. He was getting the hang of the work, his boss was pleased, and Raviathan felt a sense of community with his fellow workers. Even if he didn't speak to them, they were all part of a greater mechanism. Each person had his job, and together, they were more than the individual elves. There was a place for each of them and a unity of purpose that bonded them. The hands that worked with Raviathan stretched back to the people who built the crane and ship, to the inventors and architects. In his work, Raviathan felt them all as a continuation.

As a healer, he had been a necessity, but the work was lonely. He had to remain separate in order to be objective. When he set a bone, he couldn't allow himself to feel the pain of his patient. When he delivered a child, after the first precious moments of holding a new, vibrant life, he had to give the babe up. Since his childhood, no matter how many people he called kin and friend, an invisible wall remained. Since the spring of his youth, Raviathan had been separated because of his lineage, his talents and training. As a dock worker, he was part of a community with his fellow elves.

The planking Raviathan stood on rattled. Raviathan's stomach somersaulted, and the three floors of decks below him seemed to spiral far away into six. He cried out and pin wheeled for balance.

"Knock that out," the foreman yelled. The two sailors who had been shaking the board laughed.

The lead elf glared at the sailors. "You butt pumping ass pirates! We're trying to work here, and you could have killed him."

The laughter stopped, and both sailors took a keen interest in the lead elf. "What did you call us?"

"And what if the cargo had fallen, huh? Prank your fuck buddy's ass if you have to, but leave us alone."

The two sailors were on the lead elf in an instant. One of them pulled off his knit cap, and yanked the elf's ear hard. He cried out, and Raviathan felt his own ear ache in sympathy. Raviathan used the pole to hook the sailor's leg and pulled. The sailor was half flipped, suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, then landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He wheezed in paniced grunts, clutching his chest.

The foreman marched up, his feet hitting the deck like a drum. "What the fuck is this all about?"

"Accident," the lead elf said. "He fell."

The foreman turned to Raviathan. "Slipped, ser."

The two elves stared at the two sailors, Raviathan gripping his pole in mute threat.

"I'll get him down below," the sailor said, and hauled up his mate.

The foreman glared at the two elves. "Watch it," he said quietly and left.

The lead elf winked at Raviathan, which he returned, and the elves went back to work. Raviathan smiled. At least here, he belonged.

When dusk started to settle, Raviathan and the rest of the elves started to make their way home before the gates closed. "Lazy knife ears. Why don't you stay on board to work like us?"

Raviathan muttered to his fellow, "Yeah. A couple of elves stuck on a ship all night with a bunch of horny shems. My idea of adventure." The two dockers near him chuckled. The human dockers, who could do long hour work by living on the vessel, did earn more money. They could occasionally be targets for the sailors, but the danger for them didn't compare to being an elf alone on the boat.

One of the sailors whistled at Raviathan. "Aye-ya, bella," he yelled in a thick Rivaini accent, his hand clutching his crotch. "_Foda meu pau. Sugar-me bonita_." Laughter erupted on the ship, and the sailors yelled jovially at the one on the bow. Whatever was said, he yelled back at them in good humor then pursed his lips to send kisses at Raviathan.

"I don't want to know," Raviathan said.

"No, you don't," Giles said catching up to him.

"Are all sailors this bad?"

Giles laughed. "Some are worse than others. This batch hasn't had port in a while, so they're randier than usual. The attack scared them, so… yeah. They're taking out their frustrations on everything they can. Also depends where they're from. Rivaini and Antiva are the worst. Tevinters usually hate the idea of screwing their own sex, so they'll be around the brothels as much as they can. Usually. Some funny ducks no matter where you go, so don't let your guard down thinking one's better than the other."

That was good advice in any situation. "How upset is Curren?"

Giles put an arm around Raviathan's shoulders. "He'll be fine. Give him a day and apologize."

Raviathan thought about his pay. Curren and Giles were the sole supporters for their families. Every coin they made went into food, rent, and clothes. With his pay, Raviathan was still trying to come up with a wedding gift. He felt spoiled walking next to Giles who could waste no money on that kind of luxury. But when Raviathan thought of Nesiara, he wondered if he would ever be able to honor her as she did him. What to get her?


	12. Married Life – Love's Labor

"You won't believe what happened then." Shianni said as she and Nesiara strolled into Nesiara's apartment. "The rats started…"

Nesiara cut her off. "Oh. You're home."

Raviathan hastily folded the paper he had been writing on and stored the writing materials in the cabinet. "No work until the cargo permits are straightened out."

Shianni and Nesiara exchanged glances. "So." Shianni affected a casual tone, but the higher register of her voice gave her away. "Alarith said you were pricing your instruments."

"Did he," Raviathan returned, his voice tight.

"Yes," Shianni said. "Said used instruments weren't worth much. Especially when there aren't many people who play."

"You're lying." Leveling an accusing gaze her way, Raviathan said, "Plenty of us know how to play. If you're going to lie, try and make up something believable."

"My love." Nesiara wrapped him in a hug, but he did not look at her. "Why in the Maker's name would you do that?"

"It's not important."

"Come," Nesiara said putting her packages in the cabinet. "Look what we got."

"What is this?" Shianni asked taking her opportunity to snatch the paper away once his back was turned.

"No!" Raviathan shouted to both women's shock. His face darkened, and it was the first time Nesiara saw him truly upset. "Shianni, you give that back right now."

"Cousin," Shianni said, more surprised than hurt.

Raviathan was instantly ashamed for yelling. He took back the paper, not looking at her and crumpled it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell." Nesiara put a hand on his back, and when his head dipped down more, she pressed against his back and kissed him between the shoulders. Shianni slowly approached and leaned into him. He hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Shianni said. "What's wrong?"

Raviathan sighed and slumped in a chair. "I'm sorry, Ness. You gave me something so beautiful, and I don't have anything that… I'm sorry." He rested his head in his hands, his long fingers trailing in his hair.

"Gave you…? This is about my marriage gift to you?" Nesiara couldn't believe he was this frustrated over something like that.

"I can't make anything," Raviathan continued, his voice becoming hoarse with unshed tears. "I can't buy anything that's worthy of you. I never felt poor before."

How had he gotten himself so worked up, Nesiara wondered. The bride and groom gifts set the tone for a marriage, at least according to the old women's stories, but they weren't necessary. Just being who he was, was gift enough. Certainly not something he should even think of selling his instruments for. Nesiara took the crumpled ball of paper.

"No," Raviathan said reaching for her hand. "Please, Ness. I don't want you to see it."

"What is it?"

Raviathan pulled her to him so she was sitting on his lap with her back to him. He rested his face between her shoulder blades. "It's… Maker it's stupid," he said quietly.

"Tell me."

"I thought…" He groaned pressing his forehead against her back. "There are millions love songs and poems, and they're all better than what I can do."

"You wrote a poem?" Nesiara asked.

His arms tightened around her middle. "I have a tune. It still needs polishing, but it's alright. I was trying to come up with lyrics for it, but I can't write."

"I want to read it," Nesiara said.

"No. Please don't. It's so embarrassing."

"Rav," she said firmly. "There are millions love songs and poems, but none of those are mine. I want to read it." When Raviathan sighed, she took that as assent and carefully straightened out the paper. There were scribbles and crossed out lines covering both sides of the paper, but in the bottom right corner were the lines left untouched.

_Lost I was and cast away _

_Broken notes were all that's left_

_Music died, faith betrayed _

_The weight of want was all I knew_

_From such dust a garden grew. _

_I hear the story of our lives _

_In the sweetness of your voice _

_In splendor of night skies _

_A dance of stars, fate and choice_

_My future found in your eyes. _

_Undone are the knots of shame _

_In evening's night we return _

_In my heart you write your name_

_In winter's frost we shill burn_

_In your light as I am flame. _

_My heart entangled in golden tresses _

_And I am free _

_In long kisses and caresses_

_No longer adrift _

_My heart swells, an unending sea. _

_In your eyes the endless blue _

_Where only spirits live _

_Together we shall walk in life_

_Our bodies and souls we give_

_My dearest, my beautiful wife _

"The rhyme scheme is a mess," Raviathan said in irritation, "the internal structures are garbage, and my metaphors are everywhere. I can't even get a decent rhythm going. It's… it's just so clumsy." He kissed the back of her neck, and his voice turned from frustrated to longing. "Ness, if I could I would give you all the jewels in the world and dresses made of gold. I'd have a mansion for you to live in and servants to make your bed and run your bath."

"Husband," Nesiara turned in his lap so she could put her arms around him. "I want my song. I want you to sing it on our wedding day and every time I ask you to."

He buried his face in her neck. "You're the Maker's gift."

Nesiara smiled and kissed the tip of his ear. "Silly husband. I wouldn't even be able to move in a gold dress."

Raviathan chuckled and squeezed her tight. "Dresses made of silk then. If I could Ness, I'd give you the heavens, and the stars would be your jewelry."

"Ugh," Shianni grimaced in disgust. "Even pine trees aren't as sappy."

Raviathan sat back, his adoring gaze fixed on his wife, but he addressed his cousin in a much different tone. "You're staying for dinner then?"

"I heard your cooking has gotten better," Shianni said and read the lyrics. She put down the paper and gave her cousin a hug and kiss. She stayed there and rested her cheek on his head. "You worry too much, cousin. We both told Alarith he isn't allowed to buy your instruments. We were quite firm on the matter. He said he undervalued them to discourage you, and after we kept yelling at him for ten minutes, he shooed us out of the store."

That earned a laugh. "Alright," Raviathan said, sounding less tense, and leaned up to kiss his oldest friend, "what do you want for dinner?"

"That's the spirit," Shianni said and went to their packages. "With what Nesiara sold today, we were able to buy a whole duck and some bacon too. You're going to do that thing with the wood flavor and roast it."

Raviathan groaned. "Ness, why did you want to marry me? I'm just a wharf rat who can't even support you properly."

Shianni glared at him. "Don't call yourself that."

"My family had me marry you for your money," Nesiara said with an impish grin. "I married you for your cooking."

"Glad to know I'm some use," Raviathan said, disheartened.

"Oh, for love of the Maker," Shianni exclaimed. "You're sounding too much like Soris."

"Shianni," Nesiara said, "would you go upstairs and get his lute?"

"No," Raviathan said. "It's not finished. It's going to sound like a bloody mess." Shianni went anyway sending a smirk his way as she climbed the ladder. "My love, it's just not ready."

Nesiara hiked up her skirts so she could straddle him, which always lifted his mood. He squeezed her bottom then settled his hands more gentlemanly around her waist. She kissed him. "I don't care. You can still work on it, but I want to hear what you have."

He kissed her jaw, his lips trailing along her skin. "I know you've been worried about me. Never doubt that I love you."

"You've been so quiet lately." Nesiara sucked his ear tip, causing him to groan. "That's better."

Raviathan laughed, his arms tightening to pull her close. "My cousin is going to tease us."

"Let her. My darling husband. There may be a million elves in this world, but I am marrying you. As you told me, take the gifts you are given in this life and appreciate them."

"Wise words," he said. He kissed her and didn't stop even when Shianni came back down and started making gagging sounds.

~o~O~o~

"Ermph," Raviathan murmured wondering why he woke. After a small stretch, he settled more firmly around his wife, his hand cupping her breast as he did every night in sleep. So wonderfully soft. The curve of her butt was pressed against his pelvis, her sweet skin a caress along the length of his body. As cold as winter was, he was cocooned in her warmth. If she was receptive, perhaps they could enjoy each other before going back to sleep. He nuzzled her neck and felt her slight shift as she responded.

"Mm?" Nesiara lifted her head when there was another frantic knocking at the door.

Now that he heard it while awake, Raviathan realized that's what had woken him. He kissed his wife's bare shoulder then shifted over her to put on his pair of sleeping pants. His father's bare feet made the floor boards creak as he made his way to the ladder.

"What is it?" Nessa asked.

Since Solyn died, all knocks in the middle of the night had been for him, the only healer the alienage had. Raviathan stopped. No one had asked since Valendrian had issued the command that Raviathan was no longer allowed to practice. This would be the first time he would be tested. Disobey his father? After all the pain Raviathan knew he put his father through?

Voices floated up, one in panic, one determined. "Cyrion, she's screaming and in so much pain! I'm going to lose them both. Can't you understand that?"

"Go home, Giles. There's nothing he can do," Cyrion said.

What should he do? "Ness," he whispered, "it's for me."

She sat up next to him, her skin like a glowing pearl in the moonlight. Her blue eyes flashed in the dark room as she regarded him. "Husband. Whatever your choice, I'll support you."

Raviathan hurriedly pulled on his small clothes and regular pants. "Maker bless you, love." Two shirts, his socks, then grabbing his healer's bag, Raviathan headed for the ladder. This might be the last night they would stay under his father's roof.

Giles had Cyrion gripped by the arms, shaking him in desperation. "If it were your wife and son, what would you do?"

"It is my son!" Cyrion shot back. "I have lost my w-wife, my sister. Do you think I do not understand you? I won't, I won't lose any more."

When Raviathan descended the ladder, Giles hurried to him. "You'll come?"

Raviathan nodded and grabbed his boots. He could feel the weight of his father staring at him, but Raviathan kept his head down unable to look at this father. Cyrion put a hand on his arm. "Son," his voice cracked. "Don't do this. Please."

"I'm sorry, father." His father's quiet plea twisted his stomach. "How long has she been in labor?"

"Two days," Giles said. "It's…"

"Two days!" Raviathan's head shot up. He surged to his feet, grabbing Giles by the arm. Unfamiliar with the building, Giles was slower in the stairway and had to hold Raviathan's shoulder to keep on course. "Tell me about the labor."

"Ah, well, her water broke day before last as we were going to bed. She's had a bit of blood before that. Couple weeks. Mother said the blood was normal. But since her water, nothing. I thought women had pain during labor, but she didn't feel anything, so I thought that was good, you know? Maybe she'd have an easy delivery. Then yesterday she couldn't keep anything down. No food or water. But she's bad now. Sweating a lot. Hot and chilled. Please Rav. She's so weak and hurting. I can't… I can't lose her."

The southern wind sliced like a knife outside the building, cutting through Raviathan's thin clothes as a butcher slices meat from bone. The shock of cold stopped Raviathan, and Giles had to pull him to get going. Nose and ears going numb, Raviathan said, "It'll be okay. Giles, you've got to be her strength. I know you're scared, but you have to be calm for her. Understood?"

Giles nodded but didn't speak as the two hurried through the black night.

The alienage was eerily still at night with only the wind to accompany the two elves. Iced mud crunched under the feet of the two trespassers in the empty streets. The buildings and walls loomed, blind and mute, like great shadows separating them from the rest of the world. At night, with the gates closed, the alienage was the extent of their world. No shems. No templars. At night there were no thugs on the streets, only the occasional furry scavenger. Secure and separate. The single lights of stars shown, bright pinpricks, precise and unyielding in the blackness. The promise dawn gave of waking life felt as separate as the world beyond the walls.

Raviathan was shivering by the time they got to the small home. The fire was too low. Not enough water.

"He's here," Giles said going to his wife.

Anise was lying on her side, panting and sunken eyed, her head cradled in her mother's lap. Anise was brunette to her mother's blonde, but otherwise they were mirror images with a score and five years difference. Raviathan knelt next to Anise and pulled up her gown. "I'm afraid my hands are going to be cold. Giles tells me you're from Amaranthine," Raviathan said in the most normal voice he could manage though the cold made him shiver. Anise didn't seem to notice his cold hands as he examined her. At least the baby was in the right position.

"Y-yes," the mother said. She stared at him, a stranger who was being too casual in a crisis. "He's so young," she whispered to Giles.

"Anise," Raviathan said feeling the bulge that had developed under her stomach, "how long has it been since you've urinated?"

"I don't remember." Her stomach contracted, the muscles bunching under her rippling skin. She gasped and clutched her husband's hands.

Raviathan moved to feel her forehead and the pulse in her wrist. Sweat plastered her hair to her head, she was cold, and crying without tears. "Both of you," Raviathan said addressing the mother and Giles. "We need a lot more water. Borrow your neighbors' buckets. At least four. I'm going to build up the fire. The faster we can get clean water, the better. Go," he said when they didn't move.

When the two left, Raviathan threw more wood on the fire. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt knowing that wood rationing was necessary for their survival through winter, but it couldn't be helped. Once a pot of water was set closer to heat, Raviathan knelt by Anise's head and brushed back her hair. "Alright, sweetie. Everything is going to be fine. I've delivered a lot of babies, and you're going to get through this."

"It hurts," she whimpered.

"I know, sweetheart. It hurts and you're tired. You don't feel like you're going to make it, but you will. You're going to have a beautiful little baby in your arms. Now, Giles said you couldn't drink anything?"

"No. I tried sips, but it…," she stopped as another contraction made her clench.

Raviathan messaged her back until the contraction stopped. "You took sips," he prompted.

"Made me feel sick. Like the room started to move, and I couldn't…keep it down."

"Have you tried to pee?"

"C-can't," she panted.

Raviathan took the pot of warm water and set it next the wall. "Alright, sweetie. You're going to have to help me here. I want you to crouch with your back against the wall and sitting over the pot."

"What?"

"I know it sounds strange, but it might help you pee. Your bladder is too full, and that's delaying things. Now," he said putting her arm over his shoulders to help her up, "let's get you settled." He helped her waddle to the pot, supporting as much of her weight as he could.

"Warm," she said dazedly when she lowered into the water.

Raviathan tied her sleeping gown in a knot over her belly to keep it out of the way, and started massaging the swelling of her overly full bladder. "Feels good, doesn't it." He had to keep her weight supported, but she was looking more relaxed.

"Feel so warm now." Her head drooped as if she would fall asleep.

Raviathan sang to her, his hand massaging until the swelling started to reduce. "That's a good girl. You hear that, Anise? You're doing a good job. Just keep it up, and by morning you're going to have a sweet little baby boy in your arms."

She murmured in half sleep, and Raviathan started singing again, low and soft. Giles and his mother-in-law returned with the requested buckets. "Start a pot to boil and another to heat," Raviathan said. "I'm going to need to wash up before I can do an examination, and Anise needs some fluids."

The mother set to work, but shot a questioning look Raviathan's way. "She can't hold down water."

"She's not going to get it the traditional way," Raviathan said. "All better, sweetie?"

Anise nodded, and with Giles' help, they cleaned her up and set her back on the pallet. Raviathan untied her gown. "Instead of lying on your side, why don't you kneel. You can lean on Giles. Giles, you stay with her. Keep telling her what a good job she's doing. If she feels like sleeping, support her head."

"Uh, okay," Giles said, and Anise leaned into his chest. He kissed her ear then started murmuring encouragements.

Raviathan took out dried elfroot leaves from his healer's bag and ground them. He sang softly as he worked, letting his voice fill the small room with intimacy and his own calm. The mother sat next to him. "You've done this before."

"A few times," Raviathan said with a grin. "I suppose I can call you granny now."

At that, the woman bit her lower lip. "Isn't that bad luck?"

"Everything is going to be fine. You're going to have a grandson by morning."

"Grandson? She's been carrying high."

Raviathan shrugged. "Intuition I suppose. Let me know when that water is warm. Not too hot." He carefully shook the crushed leaves into a narrow necked flask then added pressed cinimar root. "How's she doing?"

"Better, I think," Giles answered. "She's sleepy. Will… is she going to be strong enough? All this time."

Raviathan lifted her gown to massage her back. "Oh sure. The best thing for her is to be relaxed as possible. Save her strength. When the water is ready, I've got a mixture that will help reinvigorate her."

"Mixture? But she can't drink."

"Well, it's not going in that end," Raviathan said and patted Anise's lower back. "She needs fluids, and we need to bypass her nausea. Don't we, sweetie?" Anise mumbled an incoherent response. "That's right. No worries, Giles."

Anise whimpered and bowed low. Raviathan reached around and felt her womb tighten in a contraction. When she started a high pitched keening, Raviathan stroked her back and said, "There, there. Try to make it low."

"Low?" she whimpered.

"Yeah. Lower in your throat. Maybe grunt or hum."

Giles looked lost as he rubbed her shoulder. "That helps?"

Raviathan smiled, soft in the low firelight. "You'd be surprised. Part of it is distracting her from the pain."

"The water's ready," the mother said.

"Alright." Raviathan left to finish his mixture. "Anise, sweetie. This is going to feel strange, but you're going to feel much better afterwards. Hold in the fluid as long as you can. And then we can get this baby born."

~o~O~o~

Five hours later, Anise was sleeping on her side with a boy wrapped up in a soft blanket with her. Raviathan and Giles washed up, and the new grandmother cuddled her daughter and grandson. "It's getting close to work," Giles said.

Raviathan nodded. "We'll get that buried first," he said indicating the placenta. "Granny, make sure she drinks that herbal tea mixture. Yogurt and bread are good for her. Maybe an egg for protein. If there's any pain or bleeding, send someone for me. I can be here in less than ten minutes."

"Thank you," she mouthed.

The two men left in the lightening sky of pre dawn. The cold stole Raviathan's breath, and he started shivering instantly. The two jogged as much for warmth as to get their task done in time. Using wooden boards as makeshift shovels, they buried the placenta near a garden.

There was an old myth that when elves died, their souls needed to find home in order to move beyond the Fade. Burying the placenta was like planting a seed for the soul to root. When their souls found their home, they could be at peace and go to beyond the Beyond. Gardens encouraged growth, so this was where a child's seed was planted.

Raviathan slapped the dirt off his hands, only then realizing he forgot his gloves and knit hat. His father was probably asleep, but Raviathan didn't want to take that chance. He couldn't face his father now. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable. It was stupid, but he didn't want to go back. Maybe he could borrow Lenard's gloves. Elva's husband was called often as not for work and spent his days off in a tavern. Five bits for drink, and Raviathan was sure Lenard would lend his gloves for a day.

When he started to leave for the gate, Giles pulled him into a hug. "Thank you, Rav. Anything I can do, you just ask."

The two kissed on the cheek, and Raviathan felt warm despite the cold. "She's going to be fine. And your son is perfect."

A smile cracked Giles' raw boned face. "He's so beautiful. And he looks so much like Anise."

Raviathan listened with a patient smile as the two headed for the main street. He had heard new parents often enough, overwhelmed with the joy of a new life. Pity Giles couldn't stay with his wife and child for a few days. Giles wasn't traditionally handsome, but his tired, wondering smile transformed him. His large features spoke of character, a new father, humble but not simple. His wasn't a face for sculptors, but a face to be loved.

Every time Raviathan helped deliver a child, he wondered about the continuation of life, and the familiar emotions flooded him. What would it be like to have a child of his own? An image of her sprang into his mind. Soft baby skin. Perfect and with the dreamy sweet smell that babies had. He could see himself holding his daughter, the strength of the idea making him blink back tears.

At the square, a wrapped figure hurried over. "Ness," Raviathan said in surprise. "It's freezing. What…"

She kissed him. "How is she?"

"Fine. Sore, tired, and healthy."

Giles spoke up, "You should have seen him, Ness. Comes in and makes everything alright. And I have a son."

She smiled at him. "I'll have to visit when Anise is better. Now that I know you have a son, I can make a baby charm for him."

"Sweet Ness, what are you doing out?" Raviathan knew his father was upset, but he wouldn't turn them out like this for disobedience. Some parents would, but not his father. The shawl she had around her shoulders wasn't enough against the winter morning.

"You're coming home to rest, aren't you?"

"No. I have to work."

"Love, you've been up all night. Father's mad, but it'll be alright. Come home to bed." Raviathan kissed her, and she scowled. "You're so stubborn."

"I am."

She opened her shawl to pull out his gloves, hat, two curved dock picks, and a small pouch carrying his lunch. "Just be careful. And if you get too tired, come home. I can make you agree to that."

"I'll watch out for him," Giles said.

Raviathan kissed her. "You're the best, Ness."

"Hmph." She squeezed his hand and turned to jog back home to her warm bed.

At the gates, Giles spread his arms wide for the expectant crowd. "I have a son!"

There were cheers and congratulations, thumps on the back and hugs. Raviathan stood to the side and watched on as if he had been no part of it. There were a few glances his way, but he shrugged with an innocent smile. The guards who opened the gates looked at the celebrating elves warily.

A guard who had no chin and a heavy mole covering on side of his nose glared at the elves. "What 'chu all so blasted happy about? That there'll be another cock rider in twenty years?"

Lenard called, "Piss off, rat. Oh, wait. Piss. Rat. I'm thinkin' I remember somethin' about that…"

He didn't have time to finish before the guard was after him. The crowd parted as the guard chased Lenard about. The elf slipped and slid in the mud but kept his feet and dodged around the small yard. It was more than the guard could do, and any rancor Giles might have felt at the guard's comment was gone in laughter. Spying a clean break, Lenard broke for the bridge across to the south side of Denerim and sprinted. The guard fell to one knee when one leg gave out in the mud. Red faced and seething, he ran for the elf, hounded by laughter from elves and guards alike.

Raviathan gave Giles a half hug. "I think you just got your baby's gift from Lenard."

Giles turned his head into Raviathan's neck, and Raviathan felt the wet of tears on his cheek. "This day is a gift," he whispered. "Maker's breath. Even the sun feels brighter. Likes it's shining just for me."

Maybe the heavy emotions that coursed through him were from lack of sleep, but Raviathan felt like weeping, though from happiness or relief, want of his own child or fear for Nesiara's safety if that day ever came, Raviathan could not tell. Was it selfish to want a child? To put his wife through that pain? That any child of his could be subject to the same legacy he carried? Would he be a good father?

"Come on you two," Curren whispered, his arms around both men. "Rav is already suspected enough."

Giles nodded and joined the crowd walking to the docks. The elves gathered around him, all taking joy in a new life or joking about the guard and Lenard. Curren kept his arm around Raviathan's shoulders as the two trailed behind the rest. "Normally, I wouldn't go against Valendrian, but you did a good thing, Rav."

"Does everyone know I had a hand in helping Anise?"

"Pretty much," Curren said. "They'll try and keep it low, but when you two walked up together, there wasn't much doubt."

"It was my father's wishes that I shouldn't practice. Not Valendrian's. I've never disobeyed my father like that before."

"Cyrion's a good man. He wouldn't kick you out over that."

Raviathan didn't answer. For the most part, he didn't think he'd be kicked out, but seeing Nesiara this morning had raised his doubts.

"You really worried about that?" Curren asked.

"Father, not so much. Thing is, everyone knows about me. Giles is the first, but sure won't be the last. I don't know what to do, Curren."

"Personally, I thought Valendrian was trying to hold back the tide." Curren removed his arm when they passed under the portcullis, and Raviathan felt cold where he had been accustomed to the elf's warmth.

Raviathan lowered his voice now that they were in the realm of shems. "Maybe. But there are people who would turn me in just out of spite. Like Elva. They're both trying to protect me, but this isn't going to work."

Curren murmured deep in his throat. "You know, Rav, there are times I wonder why we have it so bad. Why do elves get the shit end of things all the time? We're as smart as the shems. We can be just as capable. Why are we stuck in crumbling buildings that don't keep the cold out? At night Alorn and I are just trying to keep our son and each other warm. Winters scare the crap out of me. Every year. Fall comes, and the sky has that blue that's so rich you can almost touch it, but my stomach knots 'cause I know what's coming. Alorn and I cradling little Cevin just praying the cold don't hurt him too bad. Maker bless her, but her days were cursed when she married me, try as she might to make the best of things. We're eating rats, and I have to hear shems piss and moan when they have to eat mutton a week straight. Dockers, servants, or cock riders. Why can't we have just a bit of something better? And then I think of Elva and another dozen like her. Bitter as winter.

"It's a strange thing, Rav. Takes so much to build something up, and so little to break it down. Like Anise. All that care and just pure effort into making a baby. Near a year, and that baby could have been lost at any time. At the end of it, after all those months of worry, and she almost lost him anyway. And they still ain't safe. They'll be scraping for food, and every day of missing work makes it all worse. If you asked me yesterday, it'd say it'd be more likely for Giles to mourn them than to be celebrating. Work every day, all your life, and lose it so quick.

"What's worse is that we shouldn't have to. I ain't asking for the world. Just a home that keeps out the wind. Food that don't make us sick. I wish my wife didn't look so thin, that she didn't smile to cover her hunger up. People like you and Solyn. You're so far above the rest of us, and maybe that's why Elva and her like hate you. You remind us of the shit we live in. That we could have it better, and we don't. We could have healers. We could have books and be as smart as them shems. Maker, what I wouldn't give so that Cevin never gets called a cock rider. Giles looks like he's standing in the Maker's light. 'Cause of you. You change the course of people's lives. Rav, I don't know what the right thing is. I wish I could help you more in figuring that out. But I know what it ain't."

Before they stepped out into the open docks, Raviathan pulled Curren aside for a hug. Raviathan knew he had a much better life than many of his fellows. Most of the time, he forgot how much better. "Thanks, Curren."

"Aw. Ain't 'nuthing." Curren patted his back, but his smile was wide when they parted. He was a man made for smiles, Raviathan thought.

They lined up with shems who weren't already assigned to a ship and the rest of the elves. The foremen already had their teams chosen, so the decisions came quickly. Giles and Curren worked on loading, Raviathan with the crane team. Those not chosen shuffled off, grumbling about favoritism or the lack of trade. Raviathan trotted up to Lenard who had been passed over again, his reputation for sloppiness guaranteeing that he'd only be chosen when work was abundant. Raviathan fished out all the coppers he had. "It's thanks. For not letting that bastard shem get away with what he said."

Lenard bobbed his head. "Maker smile on you."

Once the sailors had enough shore leave, the harassment had died down to a minimum. Being grabbed at was one less thing for Raviathan to worry about during the long day. When he was occupied, Raviathan could cope with deficient sleep, but the protracted day took on an endless quality in his sluggish mind. At times his mind drifted to Anise and her son, or to Nesiara. Lenard's beaten shuffle kept reappearing in his thoughts. Most of all, Raviathan thought of his father. At the day's close, Raviathan was closer to a decision.

A red sunset warmed the alienage walls. High and comforting, walking through the portcullis was coming home. The separation they had to keep outside the walls left. The sense of prey that made Raviathan uncertain was gone, and he breathed in deep the peace of home.

"Where is he?" a shrill voice carried just beyond the gates.

"Ah, Elva, I don't know. Leave off," an elf grumbled.

"Sodding louts the lot of you. Don't give a damn, do you? If he falls into a gutter, would any of you care?"

"Shut it, Elva," another docker called. "Don't go pretending you care to us."

Raviathan came around the gate in a tired daze. The drama was nothing new. He was shoved roughly, knocking into two others, and that was new. "Maker's blood! What's wrong with you?"

"You little brat," Elva spat. "You took his job away."

"You know, Elva," Raviathan said through gritted teeth, "if I were your husband, I'd spend my days trying to drown in beer too."

"You're not better than me." Her face twisted in a sneer. "All these years. Your family may have had enough money to buy that wife of yours, but here I thought slavery was illegal in Ferelden." Raviathan turned away, already tired with her. Elva called after him, "You ended up a wharf rat. Just like I always thought you would."

Raviathan took Giles hand and pulled him close to whisper, "It's best if I'm not seen at your home. She'll be sore, but if she's in pain or bleeding, come get me."

Giles nodded once to show he understood then left down the alley that would take him home.

A boy of six ran out from a narrow alley. "Rav!"

Raviathan bent down to scoop up the child. His eyelids looked swollen, and Raviathan was sure he'd been crying earlier. "Hey there, little bird. What are you doing out so late? You know that's dangerous."

"But I wanted to see you. You're not around anymore."

"I know, but I have to work. Venri is going to be scared with you out so late." Raviathan ran his nose along the ridge of Zacky's ear. Normally a child his age would be too old for that kind of affection, but Zacky wasn't like the other children. Too small at birth, the child of a mother who died from drink, he would never be the size of the rest. "And she's got a pet werewolf."

"No she doesn't."

"Oh yes she does. She keeps her pet werewolf hidden, and when children are out too late, she takes him off his leash."

"No she doesn't," Zacky said, but he was starting to laugh.

"Would I lie to you? His name is Harry, and I bet he's prowling around right now looking for you."

"There's no such thing as werewolves."

"Yes there are. See, Harry fell in love with Venri, so now he does whatever she needs him to do. Like finding lost children. All she has to do is snap her fingers, and he comes running with his tongue out like this," Raviathan said and started panting.

"Then where is he now?"

"Lurking. If you weren't with me, he'd have snatched you up." Raviathan tickled the boy. "Yup. That's just what he'd do. And then he'd shake you around like this." Raviathan tossed the boy up then hugged him close, twisting his torso back and forth until Zacky's laughter filled the square. "Alright, little bird. Time for your supper." He knelt to let the boy down. "Kiss."

Zacky gave him a loud kiss on the cheek then, with a supreme effort, opened the heavy door to the orphanage.

That little bit of energy spent, Raviathan returned home, his feet dragging with exhaustion. It couldn't continue like this. She had to know. There were calls from his neighbors as he made his way up, all concerned about Anise. Aside from, "Fine. They'll be fine," Raviathan did not linger. If worst came to worst, they could stay at Shianni's place until they got their own apartment. Now that there were vacancies, they wouldn't have to construct their own home. Between the two of them, rent was possible. They could do it. But if Ness became pregnant, how much work would she be able to do? What he made as a dock worker was spotty and low. He could do what Solyn did, treat both humans and elves.

The possibility of practicing openly stopped Raviathan as he climbed the third flight of stairs. Could he do that? If his father wanted him to move out… there was no one to stop him. Take Solyn's place as a healer? He… he would have to be careful. Could he do it? The templars…

Raviathan shuddered. He could be killed.

He had to tell Nesiara. She had a right to know everything. Why he was in danger, the truth about his mother and aunt, what that could mean for their own future. Feeling a new sense of purpose, Raviathan bounded up the last few steps. At this point, she would either stay with him or not. Together they would decide the course of their lives.

Inside his apartment his father sat at the table, a mug of wine cradled in his hands. Raviathan asked, "Where is she?"

Cyrion took a sip before answering. "She and Nessa went to get dinner. Sit down, Son."

"I'm going to tell her," Raviathan said taking his place at the table.

"Not yet."

"Father, every day I wait, it feels like a betrayal. You had to know the day would come. You knew before you were married."

"Your mother and I had years to get to know each other. By the time I found out, we were already in love. I… I wanted to give you the best possible chance. Wait until you two were more secure."

"You were worried she would leave."

"And that she might talk before she did so. Son, you would have no defense. All we have is silence to keep you safe. It's such a fragile thing."

"As if I didn't already know that," Raviathan said in a low growl. "The constant lessons and fear." The lack of sleep was getting to him, Raviathan told himself. He rested his head in his hands to hide the prick of tears. Sleep. He'd feel less emotional after sleep. "And how long would you have waited? A year? After our children, when the danger isn't only mine to bear? I understand, but when is the right time? I love Ness. Father, I can't keep secrets from her."

"You mean you won't." Cyrion reached out and took his son's hand. "And if it goes wrong? You expect to run off to the Dalish?"

"Don't talk about the Dalish as if that's a fantasy. Plenty of elves have done that."

"Does Ness strike you as the type of woman who would be happy living wild?"

"Father…" The tears did fall then. Raviathan couldn't imagine putting his wife in danger, without shelter and security. The Dalish were a childish fantasy, and that hit full force when he thought of his wife forced to live that way. She would be so unhappy, her fate tied to his.

Cyrion stood to hug his son. "Son. Please. Just wait a little longer." The weight of his father pressed against his back, comforting and solid. Cyrion's hand shook as he ran it through his son's hair.

"Father, I don't want to hide. Not from her." The tears stung Raviathan's eyes, his voice thin with emotion—exhaustion and foolishness. "I'm so sick of being ashamed all the time."

"I know. It's been hard on both of us. Just wait until you're married."

"Two months?" With the chaos of the king's march south, their wedding permits weren't processed in time for the Wintersend Annum. According to Nesiara, more than half of the Chantry mothers had left to tend to the king's army.

"Three days."

Raviathan turned to his father in shock. "Not on an annum…?"

"Valendrian moved the date forward."

"But… why?" Elves were always married on the annums. Not once had he seen it otherwise. It carried the same profound wrongness as chopping the vhenadahl. "It…it's just not right."

Cyrion returned to his seat. "Your mother and I weren't married on an annum."

It was only shems who married on unsacred days. Raviathan put a hand over his gaping mouth as he took in the news of his marriage date. "Father, why?"

"You don't want to be married early?"

"You know that's not the issue." It would be for Soris. His cousin had been relieved by the delay. "Why aren't you telling me?"

"Because I don't know why. Valendrian came to me this afternoon. Said he talked to Mother Boann, and that she agreed to perform the ceremony this Chantry Day. Considering how few mothers are left, I'm surprised she agreed."

"Do you think it's because of Giles and Anise?" The three of them had acted against Valendrian's order, but that order was for his father's sake. Cyrion was the wounded party. Moving their marriage date didn't make sense, but Raviathan could think of no other reason.

Cyrion blinked rapidly then took a sip of wine. Raviathan knew he wasn't going to be asked to leave now, but his father was still struggling with the events from last night. "I'm not sure, Son."

Raviathan bit his lip. "I'm going to start practicing again. Full time. I'm going to take human clients as well. Like Solyn did."

Cyrion turned inward at the news. "Son. I can't… can't stand the thought of losing you, too. Why would you do this? After all we've done?"

"Father, I'm scared too, but I can't sit back anymore. I can't."

"What about when you have children? Would you leave them without a father? Ness without a husband? And what if your children…?"

His chest tightened at the thought, and Raviathan bowed his head. "That's not fair."

"It's a possibility."

Hands clenching, Raviathan raised his head. "There are lots of possibilities. Anise could have died last night. Even if she survived, her son would be dead, and she'd be too damaged to ever carry again. I can name a dozen elves who would have died in the past two years. Maker's breath. There were a few times at the docks where I almost went to the Fade permanently. At least as a healer, I won't be threatened with rape every day."

Cyrion's head shot up. "Son."

"I… didn't want to tell you." Raviathan's lips thinned. "At least as a healer, I'll be doing something worthwhile. Make things better. It's time I started helping the alienage."

Cyrion leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "Grief made me blind, didn't it. Ever since I lost your mother, it's like I've been walking about in a fog."

Raviathan squeezed his father's hand. "I understand now."

"I guess we're never out of danger." Cyrion gave his son a sad smile. "Your children…"

"My children will be raised with love. Just like I was."

Cyrion pulled his son forward, and the two rested their foreheads together. "Son, from the moment we knew your mother was pregnant, I loved you. I'll always love you."

"I love you too."

He kissed his son's cheek and sat straight. "You can wait three days?"

Throat closing, Raviathan wiped away his tears. "Yeah."

"Well. Best make it four. So you can enjoy your wedding night."

Raviathan laughed, his throat working, and he blinked to clear his eyes. "It'll be okay, won't it?"

"It'll all work itself out. Always has."

~o~O~o~

"Here. New wife," Drioni called when Nesiara passed the grannies' door. "Go on up, Rav. This is for wives." When he turned to leave with a shrug, Drioni pinched his butt eliciting a yelp of surprise.

"You used to be a lot more subtle," Raviathan said. It was impossible to be mad at the grinning imp.

"Wait until we dance tomorrow, young groom. You've had enough practice for your wedding night, a dance or two shouldn't put you too much off your game."

Raviathan gave a bark of laughter at that. "Try that line on Ness. I grew up watching you dance the grooms to exhaustion."

"Rite of passage," she said with the dignity of a priestess. "And watch your sass, young man. I'm still your elder."

"Of course, Granny. My apologies." He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and she rolled her eyes in mock ecstasy as her hand roamed over and squeezed his butt. Laughing quietly, he left to go prepare dinner.

Drioni made sure he was gone when she pulled Nesiara inside. "Now, new wife. We have a final gift for you."

"And don't you start protesting," Eolas said. "After my sister and I are done with him… well… we thought he might need a little inspiration." The two old women unfolded a small sack and pulled out two tiny articles made of pale pink lace and silk. Nesiara felt the blush flood her face to the tips of her ears. "And don't say anything about these either. Let him take off your wedding clothes tomorrow night and discover for himself."

"It won't matter how tired he is." Drioni chuckled wickedly as she held up the delicate pink small clothes. "You'll have his blood boiling for sure."

Eolas stood when the bride seemed too immobilized. She gave Nesiara a hug. "We thought this color would complement your skin. I'm glad we did this early," she said addressing her sister.

"I can't remember the last time Valendrian moved a wedding from an annum. Bad luck that. He didn't seem to be in such a hurry during Wintersend."

"Adaia," Eolas said with a too knowing look at her sister.

"Rav's mother?" Nesiara looked between the two women in curiosity. The Wintersend Annum had only been three weeks ago, but with three major festivities, Feastday and two annums, and then the king's army moving South, the Chantry had been too busy to process their permits. Not that she would have minded being married during the Wintersend Annum, but Soris and Valora weren't ready. She worried for the two of them. In the course of two months, they still hadn't formed much of a connection yet.

Eolas patted her hand. "Not to worry, dearie. Valendrian knows what's best. Here now," she said wrapping up the little articles and hiding them in Nesiara's pocket. "Now remember he's not supposed to know. Your wedding night should always be something special. A little mystery and a lot of fun."

Each granny got a hug and kiss before Nesiara left. As she ascended to her home, other elves called to cheer or congratulate her. For weeks she hadn't needed the little chalk markings her husband had made for her, but they always made her smile. They showed the way home. To him.

To her surprise, Alarith joined them for the prewedding supper. She thought Soris and Valora should be here as well, but they were having their ceremonial supper at the orphanage. Soris had begged off saying the orphans didn't get much to celebrate, so wedding dinners were special.

Cyrion and Alarith talked at length about politics, especially how the war could affect the alienage. It was talk that Nesiara had learned to pay attention to. Raviathan seemed to ignore them in favor of gazing at her throughout dinner, but every once in a while he added his observations to the discussion. Those pretty eyes of his still had the power to make her feel desired and shy, and most of all, loved. Nessa sat quietly listening to them with the occasional smile at some remark. Only once did Nesiara see a deeper pain in Alarith when the shopkeep caught her holding hands with her groom.

All too soon Shianni showed up to take her beloved away for the last night before the newlyweds would have their official ceremony. It was the same parting ceremony Anesa and Shaun had gone through as Nesiara pried her sister away and her father and little brother pulled at Shaun.

"Come on, cousin," Shianni said trying to pull Raviathan from a clutching Nesiara.

"No, he's mine," she said laughing.

"I don't want to," Raviathan held his bride tighter and pouted at his cousin, but his efforts were in vain.

Cyrion laughed at the display. Alarith came over then grinning broadly as he grabbed Raviathan around the waist to pull. "Get the bride," he told Shianni, and Nessa did her part to undo their fingers. Between the three of them, were able to disengage the couple.

Raviathan raised the back of one hand to his forehead and reached out dramatically for his bride, "Ness!" he cried theatrically. "My bride! I will not sleep until we are united again."

Trying to keep the smile from her face, she reached out imploringly, "My husband. I will count the minutes until we are reunited. I promise. I will stay true to you, my love."

"It's one bloody night," Shianni groaned.

"Ness!" Raviathan wailed. "No matter how far I roam, I will keep you in my heart. No matter what wenches find their way into my bed…"

"What!?" Nesiara exclaimed no longer struggling.

"…you will always be my love. Until the Maker calls us to his side, you shall be above all others."

"What wenches?" Nesiara said putting her fists on her hips, and Nessa lowered her head to hide a smile.

Shianni sighed giving her cousin an annoyed glare. "That would be me. Wench indeed," she muttered. She kissed Nesiara and gave her a firm hug. "Not to worry, future cousin. We didn't have half this trouble getting Soris away from his bride."

Nesiara returned the embrace with a smile. "Take care of him for me, future cousin." They kissed in departure, and Shianni took Raviathan's bundle of wedding clothes. He blew his bride a kiss and allowed Alarith to force him out the door. As they left they heard Nesiara and Nessa laughing through the door.

Alarith kept an arm around him just in case he decided to bolt back through the door, but laughed all the same. "Our little troublemaker is finally getting married. Who'd have ever guessed this rascal would find such a good match? There were a few years I was really worried about you, Rav."

Raviathan and Alarith shared a look of hidden mischief. He said quietly in case any neighbors were listening, "Thanks for keeping silent all those years."

"I'm just glad it's over," he whispered back. Alarith squeezed Raviathan's shoulder. "And now you have a beautiful bride waiting for you tomorrow. It's wonderful to see you two together."

"She is pretty adorable."

"So are you," he laughed bumping his hip into the young groom.

When they reached Shianni's apartment, Alarith hugged and kissed Raviathan in an unusual display for the northerner. Touched, Raviathan clapped the man's shoulder in parting. Soris was already waiting for them in Shianni's small apartment. Unable to afford a bed, Shianni slept on a pallet in the tiny adjacent room which she shared on the rare occasion that her mother was in town. Soris looked up from the little table where he had been fiddling with his wedding ring. His wedding bundle was taking up half the space of the tiny table. "You're finally here," Soris said, the tremble in his voice giving away his nervousness. The ring almost rolled off the table when he tried to put it down with fumbling fingers. He slapped it, the sound of metal striking wood loud enough that he made himself jump.

Raviathan gave him a hug. "It won't be so bad, cousin."

Soris patted his arm glad for the comfort. "No, I suppose not. Valora is a good woman after all. Come on. It's late. No more drinking for you tonight, cousin."

Shianni made a face at him then the three of them stripped and dressed in their night clothes without preamble. Raviathan helped undo the little clasps in Shianni's hair while Soris put away the bottle of wine he had been drinking then blew out the lamp when the others were ready. "You know," Shianni said as they settled to bed, "this will probably be the last time the three of us sleep together."

Soris was on his back but turned towards them, his eyes flashing in the sliver of moonlight. Raviathan was on the other end with Shianni in the middle. She turned towards Soris, and Raviathan cuddled pressing into her back with an arm over her waist. He kissed her neck and said, "That makes you sad, doesn't it."

"Of course it does. The last few months, you've been so involved with Ness. I'm happy for you, but I also feel like I'm losing you."

"And me?" Soris asked.

"Not so much with you moving in, wife and all," she said with a little of her humor coming back.

Mischief saturated Raviathan's voice. "So cousin. No more respite. Have you and Valora…?" They could almost hear Soris's embarrassment. "Well? Have you?"

"No," he said turning his face into the pillow. "I… I'm not like you, Rav," he whispered. "It isn't easy for me."

Raviathan reached over to take Soris's hand. "That's not a bad thing, cousin."

"It will be tomorrow," he said glumly. "Holy Maker. I don't know how we're going to… just ugh."

Was he afraid of sex? "Is it Valora? Or the night itself?"

Soris squirmed enough that Raviathan had to pull the blankets back so he was covered. "Both? I don't… she's nice enough. But what if… what if we can't…?"

Raviathan squeezed his cousin's hand. "Cousin, she's going to be just as nervous as you are. And shy. Just go slow and be gentle. Things will work out."

"I just…" Soris fumbled, "now that the day is here, I wish I had some experience. Maybe then I wouldn't be so nervous."

Settling back on the pallet, Raviathan let his arm drape over Shianni's waist. "I wish I had less. Cousin, what you and Valora will have will be special because you share yourself with just one other person. I wish I had done that for Nesiara."

Shianni shifted to look at his shadow, her eyes also catching the slender bit of moonlight. "I never understood that about you, and I'm sure I don't know half of the girls you've been with. You risked so much. It couldn't have been worth it."

Feeling ashamed already from what Alarith had said, Raviathan squirmed. His cousins had protected him for years, and, now that he looked back, had been warning him all that time. The only time they quarreled was when he was tired of their comments, but they had said them only out of concern. He appreciated that now, though he hadn't been able to then. "I don't know."

Soris reached over to lay a hand on his side. "I don't want to fight. Especially since it's going to be the last time it's just the three of us."

"No," Raviathan said still uncomfortable. "I know you two were only trying to look out for me. It isn't that. I just don't know how to explain it."

Shianni asked, "You're okay talking about it?" Raviathan held her tight resting his head against hers. Shianni shifted to a more comfortable position next to him. "I know it didn't make you happy."

"No," Raviathan whispered. "I could tell the adults were watching me, and I tried to stop a few times. I lasted almost a month once."

"Why cousin," Soris asked. "If you were exiled… I don't want to even think about it."

"I couldn't help it, Soris," Raviathan admitted. "I'd be alright for a while, and then my thoughts would get stuck, and it was all I could think about. At least with Ness, I'm finally at peace with it."

"I'm glad, cousin," Soris said. "You both look really happy together."

"Come on," Shianni said as she snuggled between her two cousins. "Get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Love you, cousins."

"And you."

"Same here."


	13. Married Life – Of Petty Tyrants

Raviathan smelled wine as a light kiss brushed his cheek. "Wake up, cousin. You remember what day it is?"

"Get drunk before noon day, isn't it?" Raviathan murmured.

Shianni snuggled against his back. "Silly. Can't remember the last time you slept late. Soris is already dressed."

"You two have had breakfast?"

"Like an hour ago," Shianni said with a laugh. Her laugh was light and warm. Like her.

"Why'd you let me sleep so late?" Raviathan sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Thought you might need it. After all, you're going to be up late tonight."

Raviathan returned his cousin's impish grin and kissed her. "Go enjoy your wine while you can."

She left him to eat a simple breakfast of toast and tea. Feeling soft from sleep, Raviathan enjoyed the quiet meditation of eating alone in the morning. He was stepping into his own life, making his own choices. Tomorrow, he would wake with his wife in his arms, and she would finally learn everything about him, about his family. She would learn why they had escaped the Tevinter slavers, the struggles he and his family had lived with, the dangers their children might face. Would she be able to hold their secrets? He had no fear of his wedding day, but tomorrow was another matter. Would she feel betrayed? _Maker, please let her understand. I had no choice. I was born with this legacy. Let her understand that I love her, and nothing will change that._

After breakfast, Soris arrived and the two dressed together for their shared day.

"I never thought I'd touch silk let alone wear it," Soris said, his small smile doing nothing to hide his nervousness.

These were the finest clothes they would ever wear. Nesiara had picked out his colors, dark leather and rich, dusky blue silk with silver threading woven in. All Raviathan knew about his wife's wedding clothes was that they were a combination of silk and doeskin. He had no idea what colors she would wear or the cut of her dress. Normally the making of wedding clothes helped bond a daughter with her new mother, but in his mother's absence the task had fallen to Shianni. She had recruited Valora's help and together the three had worked diligently on all the clothing, keeping as many secrets from the grooms as possible.

Soris's clothes were lime green silk and rust colored velvet with gold trim. The color combination resembled jester's motley. "I think Valora is trying to get back at me with this outfit, though I don't know what for."

"The red coloring suits you."

"I guess. It's the green that makes me look like a clown."

Raviathan opened his mouth to comfort his cousin when they heard voices outside. Since he lived at the top of the building, Raviathan was unused to the traffic near Shianni's home. A clatter of voices rose, carrying an urgency that caught both men's attention. Shianni entered with Nessa and Nola in tow. Nessa's arm flung around Shianni for support. Nola stared at Raviathan, her eyes travelling up and down. She blushed and turned away, ratcheting up the tension between them. They hadn't spoken since the night she told him off.

"Shianni?" Dirt smudged her dress, and she was pale. Raviathan got a wet cloth and some soap.

"I'm fine." Her voice shook. Raviathan kissed her temple as he cleaned her.

Nessa blurted, "There were humans here!"

"Humans," Soris said, tension pulling him wire tight. "What…?"

"Nobles. Three of them," Nessa said. She lowered her voice, "Vaughan was here."

Raviathan and Soris froze at the name. Soris asked, "W-what happened?"

"Before we even knew what was going on, Isa told us to run," Nessa said. "Then she was gone. Those men wanted us to go with him. They were after women. Shianni hit him over the head with a bottle. Knocked him out cold."

"Cousin," Raviathan said in shock. Vaughan was here? That demon?

"I didn't think," Shianni said, and she sounded ready to cry. "He grabbed Ness…"

Ness…Raviathan dropped the soapy cloth, fear freezing his brain.

"She's fine," Nola said, still not looking at him. "The two shems left carrying Vaughan."

"I…" Raviathan's voice broke.

"It's okay," Shianni said. "You can go."

"I'll take care of her." Nessa put a hand on Shianni's shoulder.

Raviathan didn't remember leaving the apartment or hurrying through the streets. Half blinded by the harsh, winter sunlight, he ran to the square. Shem violating their home was bad enough, but Vaughan? The presence of the Arl's son was as invasive as a knife in his gut. "Ness!?" For a second, he was startled by the boom in his voice, they way it carried through the square and stopped the buzz of conversation from the gathered elves.

"Here."

He turned toward the sound of her voice and found her leaning against a wall of Valendrian's home. His breath caught, fear stuck raw in his throat. When he held her, he could feel the faint trembling that still effected her. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Not at all. How's Nola?"

Raviathan pulled away, his gaze intent as he examined her. He brushed back the fine slips of her hair that had escaped her braid. She was pale in the thin sunlight, her fine skin almost translucent. "Nola?"

"She was grabbed too. That… that shem was so harsh with her. Shoved his tongue in her mouth. She was gagging. Tossed her around like she was a doll. Oh Maker, I wanted to throw up."

"I… she didn't say anything. Ness…?"

"Really, my love. I'm fine. You look good," she said trying to smile away her nerves.

Raviathan pulled her into his arms. "Please, Ness. You're alright?"

She nodded and leaned into him. "Just let me be here for a minute."

"Anything, my love." His lips brushed across her temple. Raviathan closed his eyes, opened himself to the calm her presence provided. Her hair smelled like soap and water, clean and pure. She relaxed into him, her shaking easing away, and only then did he believe she was unhurt.

She kissed his neck. "I'm going to find Valendrian. Let him know what happened."

Reluctant, Raviathan released her. "Ness, if there's some danger, anything, I want you to run. You hear me? Just get away to safety."

"Yes, my love." She kissed him before she left.

He watched her leave, the rest of the alienage a distant clatter that didn't matter. She stood out, the one clear image among the blur of colors and movement of the other elves. Raviathan leaned against the wall where she had been and rubbed his temples to ease the sharp headache that had appeared.

"Cousin?"

Raviathan stood straight, his arm going around Soris' shoulder. "Did you see Valora?"

"She's fine. A little shaken. Ness?"

Raviathan nodded, "The same." He squeezed Soris, kissed his temple. Humans brought death as they both knew all too well.

"It's…" Soris' voice cracked. "It's going to be alright? Nobles…"

There wasn't a guard in the city who could protect them from the Arl's son. Soris looked about ready to faint. "Don't worry, cousin. Valendrian will know what to do." Raviathan shook his cousin gently. "Come on. They're gone, and it's our wedding day. You've got bigger worries."

"Yeah." Soris cracked a nervous smile. "That worry doesn't seem so big anymore. I'll give Vaughan that."

"We'll send him a rat tail as a thank you. Maybe in his soup."

Soris heaved a sigh to clear out his thoughts. "Wine? I think I could use a cup."

Raviathan nodded more to have something to distract his cousin than want for a drink. The elves gathered under the vhenadahl were jittery. The last attack had been four years ago, and had cost Adaia's life. Before that was the purge.

"Is Ness alright?"

Raviathan turned to see Alorn, her son wrapped up in a blanket. "Fine," he replied. "A little frazzled."

"It's been years since I've seen a shem. I forgot how big they are," she said.

Taedor joined them. "Me too. And their eyes? Creepy. Just so… dull. Like there's nothing there."

"Maker protect us." Alorn made the sign of the sword over her heart. "I had forgotten that too. Whether they're working or murdering, it's the same fish-eyed flat. Like they've got no feeling in them."

"I've been working with them for over a month," Soris added, "and I'm still not used to it. Never know if they're going to yell at you, hit you, or say 'good job'."

"Hey," Raviathan said. "It's our wedding day. I want to remember more than some shems. Let's not let them ruin it for us."

"Of course," Taedor said with a smile. "This will be the first wedding in years where you get to dance more than play."

Alorn hoisted her son up higher on her hip. "The lace sisters of the alienage have been looking forward to your wedding for years."

Raviathan laughed. "I'm not sure how much of a husband I'll be tonight. Drioni has had this look in her eyes for weeks."

Soris was still pale, so Raviathan made excuses and led him out of the crowd in case he was going to be sick. Bad enough Soris was worried about his marriage now this. This was the last thing he needed today. Parasitic shems. They made everything worse. Raviathan glanced at the vhenadahl as they passed, but this time he received no comfort.

The vhenadahl was painted white and red for the wedding. The colors for spring were blue and white, but since this celebration came between the winter and spring annum, the elves had decided to mix the red of winter with the white of spring. As the colors didn't go together during any season, Raviathan found the mix unsettling. The combination of spring and winter patterns clashed, strange in their unnatural jumble.

"Cousin, there's another human."

Raviathan's stomach clenched. Of all days, why today? Why couldn't these damn shems just leave them alone? Raviathan found the man leaning against an apartment building in the shade, casually surveying the alienage. The shem was a northerner, darker than Raviathan. His dark skin contrasted with his steel armor and pale cream cloak. Another noble? Not the right look. Not a guard either. "You think he's from before?"

"Don't know, but Rav, he's armed. W-what are you going to do?" Soris asked, trotting up to match Raviathan's quick march.

"Kill him."

"Wh-what? Cousin, you can't…"

"Oh, come on, Soris. I don't even have a knife on me. The three of us are going to have a nice, friendly chat, and if that doesn't work, I'll get him over to the bridge and push him off. With that heavy armor, he should sink."

"Rav. You're crazy. You can't…"

The dark human's gaze fell on Raviathan with an interest that gave the elf pause. Raviathan tried to shake off the odd feeling, but his fear rose, making him wish he had a weapon. What did this man know? "Ser. This is the alienage. It's no place for humans."

"I am well aware this is an alienage," the human said. He was older, mid forties Raviathan guessed, with his black hair pulled back into a short ponytail. He wore one gold earring in a style found in eastern Thedas-Free Marches, Rivain, or Antiva-but no accent marked his mild voice.

"Then you know you shouldn't be here. The gate is just over there. Ser."

"I have no intention of leaving." The human's attention was too sharp. He hadn't just wandered in, not that many shems did, but he was here for a reason. Those two humans Raviathan had hurt a month ago wouldn't have the money to hire a sell sword to go after him. Bounty hunter for the templars? That made no sense. Raviathan still wasn't openly practicing as Solyn had.

Why? Why this difficult shem here on his wedding day? "There is no reason for you to be here. Ser, this is a day of celebration. Your presence here is not only unnecessary, it is unwelcome. Would you please leave?"

"So persistent." The dark human smiled, which only bothered Raviathan more. They both knew an unarmed elf against an armed human was no match. "What will you do?"

What was with this shem? "You can't be this dense. What is your purpose here?"

"For now, my purpose is my own business."

Considering how heavy the shem's armor was and his age, Raviathan was sure he could out run the warrior. Pick a fight, then lure him out. Raviathan circled so his back was to the gate. "I said get out. You've no business here."

The dark human's smile never left. In fact, he seemed pleased. Did he come here to pick a fight? "I'm armed and armored. I refuse to leave. What will you do?"

Soris shifted from foot to foot, ready to bolt. Deciding to go for the unexpected, Raviathan surged forward, putting all the weight he could into shoving the shem. The push forced the human back a few paces, as much a show of strength as Raviathan was capable of. He danced back in case the shem went for his sword, and growled, "Bring it on, shem."

Soris waved his hands, backing away. "Try not to die!" He ran, yelling over his shoulder, "I'll get Valendrian."

Raviathan expected anger, or at least indignation. The smile he was getting was only confusing him more. Was this shem laughing at him?

"What's going on, Rav?" Three elves broke off from the crowd but kept a wary distance from the swordsman.

"Rav," the human said, musing over the name. "You are Adaia's son."

Raviathan straightened in surprise. Fear chilled him. He cursed himself for giving away the truth. He should have controlled his reaction. Too late now. "You knew her?"

"You resemble her quite a bit, you know."

Who was this man? Feeling trapped, Raviathan struggled against the fear that snaked up his spine. This man knew too much about him. Fallout from his mother's legacy. In that moment, Raviathan wondered about his wife's safety, the safety of his future children, his grandchildren.

When Raviathan remained silent, the warrior said, "Your mother trained you, did she not?"

Fear stabbed at Raviathan again. From his childhood, he remembered the crack of thin ice under his feet, how one misstep could suck him under the Drakon River, to be dragged into the black water, drowned, and out to a frozen sea. He felt that same fear now with this man. To say nothing would be an admission. To say the wrong thing would be a trap. This man knew his mother, knew what she was. Was he here for blackmail? But Raviathan didn't have anything of value. To force him into service of some gang? Fear for Nesiara and his family rose. "No. She died before I learned anything."

"Hey, Rav. You need some help getting rid of this shem?" The three elves walked up to stand behind Raviathan, four pairs of hostile, jewel bright eyes pinned on the human.

"I told you, shem," Raviathan said. "You don't belong here. Get out."

"Duncan!" Valendrian's jovial voice called out, breaking the tension that hung in the air. "How are you, old friend?"

"You know this shem?" one of the elves asked, mystified as their hahren shook hands with the warrior.

"Watch your language," Valendrian admonished. "I will have no insults to my guest."

The stunned elf gave Duncan a hasty bow in apology. Raviathan squeezed his friend's shoulder in thanks before sending the three back to the festivities. Soris remained close, his hand comforting against Raviathan's back.

"I apologize. Ser," Raviathan said. "Had you said…"

"No. I take no offense," Duncan said. "I kept you in ignorance."

"Grooms." Valendrian turned his attention to the two men. "You have wives and festivities to return to, and I must catch up with my old friend."

Raviathan wondered at his hahren's phrasing, but he nodded and took Soris's hand.

"Cousin," Soris whispered, "you really scare me sometimes."

"Sorry. Those nobles got to me."

"I'm glad we weren't there. Rav…" Soris gripped his hand painfully hard. "I… the nobles… what if…"

Raviathan pulled his cousin aside where he wouldn't be in full view of the other elves. "It's alright, cousin," he whispered, holding him tightly.

"Don't scare me, Rav. Picking fights. I'm…I'm already…"

"I'm sorry." He glanced over and found that the shem was still watching him. Whatever momentary respite from his nerves Raviathan had gotten from the presence of his cousin disappeared. An old anger formed like embers in his chest. He ran his fingers gently through Soris' hair and remembered back thirteen years ago when he'd held his cousin during the last purge. The screams and smell of burning elves. Ash, smoke, and elves—faintly like cedar.

"Rav?"

"Fine. I'm fine. We've got a few hours. Do you want to lie down?" Watching.

"I don't want to be alone."

"Then let's get some food to settle your stomach. How about that?" Still watching.

Unnerved, Raviathan led his cousin back the rest of their brethren. What reason could Valendrian have to tolerate this shem? "It'll be alright, Soris."

"Don't know why we're having the wedding today. Bad luck."

"Well, maybe we got our bad luck for the day out of the way. It can only get better from here on, right?"

Soris nodded, his head bowed and eyes darting around the square. Raviathan understood all too well how his cousin felt. Trying to watch everything as if that would keep harm at bay. He'd seen Soris do that when he was tense or under attack. Raviathan brought his cousin a cup of wine, hoping it would calm him. If Soris didn't start looking less green, he was definitely going to faint during the ceremony. Raviathan kept rubbing his cousin's back and joked with the other elves. Gradually, Soris regained his color.

After three more dances, Cyrion joined them, grinning broadly at his son and nephew. "Son. Oh, my boy. You look splendid. You too, Soris."

"Thank you, uncle."

"I feel like I should be in a parade in these clothes." Raviathan ran a hand over the silk of his shirt. "They're so fine."

Cyrion opened his mouth to reply when he noticed Duncan. Though Duncan had stopped staring, his attention had remained on Raviathan.

"Father?" Raviathan glanced between the two of them.

"N-nothing, son."

"Do you know him?" Raviathan's fear came back. Of course his father knew this shem. His father knew a great many more humans from his work, but this shem heralded bad news.

Troubled, Cyrion returned his son's gaze. "Not well. He was at my wedding. I didn't expect to see him here again."

"Your wedding?" Raviathan glanced back, saw the human watching him, and felt dread settle like stone in his stomach. "Father, I don't like the feeling of this. Let's cancel the wedding."

"Son…"

"It's bad luck not to have a wedding on an annum anyway. After all the trouble today… Ness and I will talk tonight, have the wedding in two months like we should."

"No," his father said quickly, panic in his voice. "It's best if you do this today. I…I will speak to Valendrian. I'm sure everything's fine."

Raviathan frowned at his father's retreating back. Duncan was still watching him, and Raviathan felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with winter. Enough of these shems. Soris was spooked. His wife, cousin, and friends were mistreated. And now his father was scared. An armed shem didn't belong here. Frustrated, Raviathan stalked over to Duncan, eyeing the dark human with open mistrust. "Who are you?"

"I thought I made that clear." When Raviathan's glare hardened, Duncan smiled in return. "I am a Grey Warden."

Raviathan's eyes narrowed. "Funny. Didn't see your griffin when you came in."

"So you know about us. That's a start."

Start of what? "Stop pretending." The Grey Wardens were mythic warriors, but they had died out with their griffins centuries ago.

Duncan bent at the waist, his arms folded across his chest. "And what proof do you require?"

Raviathan leaned back, uncertain. "The darkspawn are gone. Why this game?"

"Are you so sure of that, lad?"

Raviathan cocked his head, not sure if he was being taken in for a fool or not. "Why are you here?"

"I have business here," Duncan said as he straightened.

"Why are you watching me?"

Duncan smiled again. Raviathan wanted to punch him. "All in due time."

"No. I'm not interested in games or guessing."

"Rav!"

He turned to see Nesiara standing at the edge of the crowd. Raviathan could feel the beat of his heart increase. She was beautiful in the doe skin and white silk wedding dress. Pale and gold as a beam of sunlight. He didn't want this shem to see her. No hungry shem for that matter. They didn't belong here. Not in his home. He glared back at Duncan. "Do any harm to my family," he said quietly, "and no one will ever see you again."

He didn't wait for Duncan's reply. That shem was probably still smiling. Doubtless the warrior thought he could take an inexperienced elf easily. Raviathan could use that against the warrior if he had to. He knew more than one way to skin a cat.

"Come, Ness," he said wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Who is that man?"

"Says he's a Grey Warden."

Nesiara glanced back in surprise. "I thought the Order died out centuries ago."

"He's probably lying."

"Valendrian wouldn't hold a liar in such high esteem." She looked back again. "I never thought I'd see a Grey Warden in real life."

"Ness, love, you're not helping my nerves here."

"Nerves, huh?" She bit his neck gently, then again at the base. He laughed, a pleasant warmth chasing away his fears and letting calm settle into him. "Then let's dance. It's our wedding day, my love. I'll be damned if I let some humans ruin it."

Raviathan's eyes widened. "I don't think I've ever heard you use that word."

"Come on." She dragged him under the vhenadahl. The colors from dozens of stained glass ornaments splashed the square. "Taedor. Would you play? It's time for us to remember this is a celebration."

A few elves cheered, clapped, or raised their drinks in toast. Raviathan whirled his wife around, her laughter filling his chest, dispelling his fears. Her body, as slender and supple as a sapling, was real and warm in his hands. Her smile, the blue of her eyes, the cream of her skin, were the summit of the Maker's will. Make the Fade real, craft the chaos of energy into a physical form, and she danced before him as perfect as the light of his own heart. Nothing would tear this asunder. Whatever that shem's plans were, he couldn't force Raviathan to do anything. Though he might be a lowly elf, Raviathan wasn't defenseless. This, what he had now, was worth all that he was to protect.

More elves applauded, couples pairing together. Taedor started playing, the fiddle chords humming through Raviathan as if he were the strings. For the moment, the dappled sun and shades of colors that graced over Nesiara as she spun were more real than the world outside their home. This is our home. Our day. Our lives. Nesiara fueled his heart, the light of her spirit touching his own. _Ever after this day, we will be bound._

Red and green flashed out of the corner of Raviathan's eye. Soris and his bride were dancing as well, their steps deliberate. Shianni's laughter rang out as she danced with a younger boy. This is the way we were meant to be, thought Raviathan. Free. Without shems, we could have the peace we deserve. The Chantry and its templars wouldn't exist. All his people would have magic again, live eternal with in communion with the Fade. Instead of decades, he would have centuries to dance with his bride.

"Enough, new wife," Drioni said. "It's time to let the old dames have a bit of fun."

Eolas was already in full swing with Soris, the groom relaxing in her company.

Nesiara laughed, bowing to her elder. "Of course, granny."

Taedor winked at him and started a fast jig. Raviathan took Drioni's hand, ducked under her arm not quite avoiding a pinch on the rear, then spun her back into position. Half the game was trying to keep her hands as busy as her feet, the other half in keeping up. While Drioni and Eolas were the most infamous, many of the alienage's grannies partook in the game of wearing out the grooms.

"Don't worry, young buck," Drioni said patting his cheek in parting. Her flush made her skin glow, dropping twenty years of age. "If you're tired tonight, lie back and let her do all the work. I'm sure you'll have that much left in you."

When she turned, Raviathan took the opportunity to pinch her, a small revenge for the years of her play. "Ho-oh!" Drioni wagged a finger at him, her smile wicked. She called out, "Ladies, have at this one."

"That's cruel," Raviathan said, and kissed the hand of his new partner, Eolas.

"Cruel indeed," Drioni said with a snort. "Old wives protect the new. We want that bride of yours to be able to walk tomorrow."

The music switched from a jig to waltz, so Raviathan held the dame closer for the slower music. Taedor was being sympathetic in his choices of music. "Ah, Rav. You've done a lot of growing up these last few months. Always were a bit beyond your years. Even as a tot. Your mother and aunt would both be proud."

"Thank you, granny."

"Do you still miss them?"

"Sometimes. It doesn't… I don't know how to describe it. I remember them all the time. I think about what they would say to me, or what they would think, but it doesn't hurt anymore."

"As it should be. Their memories are friends now. Pain is hard to let go, but you have to or you'll miss out on all the other gifts in this life. And that serene smile of yours proves it."

Soris yipped, and Raviathan could easily imagine what Drioni was doing to him. At least Drioni would help keep his mind off the shems. For all her mischief, she and her sister were two of the kindest elves he knew.

"Granny, was it hard to let go of your children?"

Eolas didn't miss a step as they spun under the vhenadahl. "At first. The way they were cut out of my life, it was like a death. Hard enough for the first, but when the templars came for the second… Sometimes I wish I had taken them and run to the Dalish. I couldn't have guessed that magic was so strong in our family to take three children. At least they have each other and a cousin. Protection in family. That's a comfort. Our babies are together, like my sister and me."

"You weren't scared of their magic? Not ever?"

"No," Eolas said, her brow furrowed in annoyance at the thought. "Ridiculous boy. They were our babies."

"You were a good mother, Eolas. It's a pity you didn't have them for longer."

"Mm. I wish I really could be a granny. Wait and see, Rav. That's the best part. You can spoil your grandchildren rotten, and your child can't say boo." At his soft smile, Eolas squinted at him, measuring. "You're already looking forward to that. My dear boy, you're growing up too fast. Won't live long at the rate you're going."

Raviathan chuckled. "Thinking about summer doesn't make the day warmer."

"Sometimes, dear boy, I worry about you. We elves used to live forever. Now all we have are a few decades short of a century. Our lives got squished down to a few years, so we had to use them up faster. Don't shorten your life by growing up too fast. Once the years are spent, you can't get them back."

"I'm only eighteen, granny. Hardly ready for a cane."

"Eighteen my ass."

"Yes, and you should get your hand off mine. I've got you figured out, Eolas. You're just as bad as your sister."

She cackled. "Well. You'll be officially claimed within the hour. Let me enjoy while I can. Keeps me young, my dear boy."

The music came to an end when Mother Boann arrived in the company of Valendrian. Raviathan gave Eolas a hug then looked about for his bride. After Vaughan, he shouldn't let himself lose sight of her so easily. The edge of panic started to cut into his mind when he saw her speaking with that shem. Maker's ass. Why couldn't she be more afraid of them? He didn't want to get close to the shem again. "Ness. It's time."

She curtsied to the pretender before joining him. "Ness. Really. Why are you being nice to him?"

Nesiara scoffed and took his hand. "He's not a bad person, Rav. You'd realize that if you'd be a little more open minded."

Soris and Valora were making their way to the stage where Mother Boann and Valendrian waited. Raviathan squeezed his bride's hand. "We are not going to fight right before we're married."

"That's right. I'd be so much easier if you just agreed with me and be done with it. I'm right after all."

Raviathan smiled, pulling her in for a kiss before they took the stage. "Of course. But I'm right too."

"Yes, husband." She kissed him back. "This is your last chance to run off to find the Dalish."

"Yours too. Do I need to track you down?"

"No. Just marry me."

Raviathan led the way up the stage, his fingers entwined with his wife's. He'd never been this close to Mother Boann before. She was a short, stout woman but still taller than any elf. Plain for a human. Over the past month, Raviathan had been getting used to dullness of human eyes, the rough texture of their skin. Females were rare around the docks, only the occasional prostitute or vendor who were willing to brave shiploads of desperate men.

Mother Boann started her speech. Raviathan settled in for the tedium. He focused on the thick wrinkles that permanently marked the back of the Mother's neck. Humans had short necks. Some didn't even have a neck, their heads forming out of their shoulders. After a few minutes, Raviathan's eyes glazed over as he went into his own head to wait out the ceremony. Why were they compelled into these shem traditions? How did the Dalish perform wedding ceremonies? The Mother's voice droned on amidst the rustle of the vhenadahl's leaves and the occasional cough. Raviathan was dozing on his feet when he heard the clanking of metal.

The far off rhythmic march of armored boots chilled Raviathan's blood. He had never heard anything like it, but he knew what it meant. His brain snapped to alertness. They should have called the wedding off. Once the shems started, they never left elves alone.

"They're coming for us," he whispered. They needed to run. Come on Rav, move. You have to move. He took a hesitant step forward, his brain frozen in fear of what was coming for them. Nesiara gasped, and he realized he was squeezing her hand too tightly. The Mother kept up her stupid chanting oblivious to the sound. Raviathan looked at the sea of elven faces gathered under the vhenadahl, faces too bright, too expectant of the celebration to understand.

"Run." No one heard him. Isa had been the only one smart enough to stay hidden. "Run." Nesiara stared at him still not understanding the danger. "They're coming. We have to get out of here." His wife's family had been smart enough to escape a purge. Would he be able to keep her from danger now?

Shrieks from the ends of the crowd started getting the attention Raviathan wasn't able to. Now everyone heard the marching. The elves gathered together, clutched at their loved ones in panic. "Not a purge," a woman wailed.

"We've done nothing to warrant a purge," a man said but that eased no one's terror.

A young man ran from the west side of the main street. "There are guards coming! They've closed the portcullis!"

Trapped. We're trapped. More cries of a purge sounded from a dozen mouths as the elves surged around the vhenadahl.

The lords were there. One of them grabbed Miram. She struggled when he pulled her against him, one hand squeezing her breast, the other clutching her sex through her dress. She yelled as much in pain as in humiliation and tried to force his hands away. "She's a bit old," Lord Jonaley said looking the woman over.

"Still a pretty little wench though," Braden replied.

"There are lots of pretty wenches. No reason to settle."

"Fine." Braden pushed her roughly away so she hit a building before falling. Her dark eyes glittered in fury. If she had a dagger, she would have buried it in the lord without a second thought.

"Now, now," Vaughan said with a laugh. "She can always be a bit of sport for the guards. Let them chase her around the barracks for a time."

"My Lords!" Mother Boann was livid in fury. "That you would do this at all, but in front of a Chantry Mother!"

Vaughan snorted. "You indulge these pets of yours far too much. Dress them up for tea if you want to, they're still just knife ears."

"The Chantry will hear of this," she spat. "On a wedding day no less. This is beyond shameful."

With startling athleticism for such a large man, Vaughan leapt up to the platform. Instinctively, Raviathan pushed Nesiara behind him. All humor was gone as the current Arl glared down at the Mother. The menace in his low voice carried the threat of the city's army commanded at his whim. "The Chantry is going to stay out of this. The Mothers aren't all so stupid as you. Creating an incident over a few knife ears?" He smirked at her with all the warmth of a sadist at play. "Go back to your superior. Your time with your pets is over. Now that I'm Arl, we won't be indulging these little rats like we used to."

"You won't get away with this," Mother Boann said, but she was already cowed.

He laughed in her face. "Who's going to stop me? The guards I command? Stupid woman." Vaughan turned to his friends. "Pick who you want." The guards had the square surrounded as solid as a dark wall closing them in.

Lord Braden tossed Nola to a guard who held her fast then looked about the faces. He moved through the crowd tossing those aside who couldn't get away fast enough. "Where is she," he muttered, barely audible over the sounds of panic. "Where is she!?" he bellowed.

"Sister," Eolas yelled when Drioni was shoved and fell to the ground.

Vaughan looked upon the drama impassively. "Scores of knife ears. Why is he so bothered with that one?"

"Who knows," Jonaley replied sounding bored.

"Bad form that," Vaughan commented. "I was hoping this little adventure would help cure him."

"Eh. We still get to have a bit of fun out of this. Maybe we should take the grooms as well," Jonaley said with an appreciative leer. "They're pretty enough. We could put them in your mother's old frocks. Chain them up in the basement. Have their wives watch. I'd be fun to break them in with a captive audience."

"No point in appetizers when we have enough dishes for the main course. Speaking of which," Vaughan said turning back to the couples, "take a look at the lovely bride."

"Touch her and I'll kill you," Raviathan said.

Unimpressed, Vaughan smirked at him. "Don't worry. She's going to enjoy the feel a real man instead of a little cock rider like you."

Raviathan's attention was caught for an instant when he heard Valora shriek and Soris yell out, "No!" He barely had time to register Vaughan's movement when blackness fell.


	14. Married Life – Dirty Hands

_Trigger Warning: If you've played the City Elf origin, you know what's coming up next. If you haven't, beware that violence, rape, and murder were in the game. You may have noticed I don't exactly stick with the script, but these events still occur though there is some variation. Be warned, this is a brutal chapter._

~o~O~o~

"Cousin, please wake up."

A burning throb covered half of Raviathan's face. The fine grain of old wood against his cheek was the only tie he had to gravity. The rest of the world insisted on twisting about like it was trying to buck him off. Dizzy with pain, he tapped his hand against the platform hoping that was enough of a signal for Soris to give him a minute.

Angry shouts swarmed in the distance like a wasp nest had fallen in the middle of the alienage. Maker his face hurt. Not since his mother's training had he experienced pain like this. Why…? Raviathan bolted up. The pain in his face slammed a wave of nausea that threatened to turn up the contents of his stomach. Nesiara. "Where is she?"

Everything looked too bright. Raviathan winced as the glare of sunlight shot past his eyes and straight into his brain. Soris's eyes were red. "They took her. Shianni and Valora too."

With Soris's help, Raviathan struggled to his feet. They were alone on the stage. Valendrian stood in the center of a large crowd of elves across the other side of the square, his voice ringing out over their protests. That shem stood with him. For a second, the light became a bright, indistinct glare, turning the alienage sideways. Raviathan swayed, clutching at Soris to stay on his feet. "What happened to the Mother?"

"She left. Rav, what are we going to do?"

"Would she have gone for help?"

"Mother Boann? To who? Vaughan commands the city guards. The templars won't get involved."

As he walked, Raviathan's vision cleared, his steps becoming steadier. Ness. "How long was I out?"

"I'm not sure. Twenty minutes?"

Did he still have time? "I'm going after them."

"Rav? You… you can't. It's not… possible."

Raviathan pushed the gathered elves out of the way to get to Valendrian. A few turned in anger but stayed silent when they saw him. That shem stood there, useless. Valendrian spied them and beckoned. "You're awake. Your father has gone to the bann he works for to ask for help."

"I'm going after them," Raviathan growled. His voice didn't sound like his own anymore. Lower, deeper, his voice carried over the shouts easily.

Valendrian's face fell.

Elva screeched, "You can't! You'd risk us all for a few? You go, and we'll have a purge for sure. Vaughan isn't going to show any restraint now that his father is gone."

Valendrian raised his hand for silence as a dozen more elves added their voices to the cacophony. "Elva, this act of aggression cannot be allowed to stand. That Vaughan would do this… in the open with no fear or consequences. As it is, another purge may be inevitable."

The momentary silence broke as scores of elves shouted out. There was no one voice to unite them, no single view of what should be done. Some gasped at the idea of a purge. Others raged against the injustice of the invasion.

Their voices pounded through Raviathan's skull, further setting him on edge. All of this was wasting time his wife and kin didn't have. For the first time in Raviathan's life, Valendrian's authority would have no impact on his decisions.

Raviathan turned to leave. He had taken three steps, when an hand on his arm pulled him back. Raviathan snarled at the shem, ready to cut the man's hand off if only he had a knife. "Back off, shem."

"Rav," Valendrian's voice warned.

Before he could finish, Raviathan cut him off. "What do you think they're going to do? Every minute here is wasted."

Duncan shook his arm. "And you think to rescue them unarmed? Where is your head, lad?"

"You'll not stop me." If he could, Raviathan would put a dagger in this shem's stomach.

"I'm not trying to. You will get further if you dress as a servant." Duncan's advice was so unexpected, Raviathan felt it like a slap. "Get changed, and quickly. I'll lend you my sword and bow."

"Where is Isa?" Valendrian called out. "She can take you there."

~o~O~o~

"Go into the grounds. The side entrance for servants is on the right. Second door. Goes to the kitchen"

If Isa hadn't looked sick with fear, Raviathan would have kissed her. "Any advice?"

She shook her head. "I didn't come here often. Uh, watch out for dogs. They were fond of mabaris."

"Get going," Raviathan said. Isa fled through the streets like a mouse searching for cover. In seconds, she was gone from sight. "Calm, Soris. Stay behind me. Let me clear a room before you follow."

"Okay."

Raviathan glanced back at his cousin. They had argued about a purge on the way over, but it didn't matter as far as Raviathan was concerned. Maybe their hahren could figure a diplomatic way out, but as long as Vaughan was in charge, there would be no safety anymore. Not for any of them.

They hurried through the grounds. The estate was quiet. Not even a guard at the entrance. Vaughan's confidence that no one would challenge him betrayed his arrogance. That arrogance was the only window of hope Raviathan and Soris had to exploit. Perhaps Duncan had a point that a couple of servants wouldn't be noticed. Soris carried their two weapons, borrowed from Duncan, wrapped up in a thin blanket so they wouldn't attract attention on the way over.

Raviathan took a shaky breath outside of the servants' entrance to the kitchens. There was no going back. Once Vaughan invaded the alienage, the laws that allowed elves their own space free from the pain of shems was gone. How fragile those laws appeared to him now.

What would he find though? Guards on the other side of the door? Would they have to kill servants as well? People who were innocent? Would the city guards interfere? How far would they get? The glare of the over bright sun was strong in the courtyard without the high alienage walls all around. Raviathan felt naked without the walls, vulnerable. Would his people ever be safe again?

The door was unlocked. "Are you ready, cousin?"

"Rav? Will this work?"

No? Even if Vaughan thought nothing of elves, the odds were so far against them Raviathan thought they had a better chance of touching the moon. He opened the door feeling like his blood had turned to shards of ice. The small room was empty. Just a few benches. Light from high set windows and a cook's fire lit the room beyond the open archway. The room was fragrant with the smell of lunch cooking

Tense, Raviathan jumped when he heard a slap. "You filthy knife ear! How long does it take to peel potatoes? Day after day," another slap, "and you're still worthless."

Raviathan leaned around to look through the archway and found a beefy human holding an elf by the front of his shirt. The elf was bruised and bloody. The human's broad back faced him. Raviathan motioned for Soris to stand back. Careful, making his steps quick but light, Raviathan padded forward taking a long knife from the wide table laden with food. The other elf saw him, eyes widening slightly, but said nothing. Raviathan gripped the knife, heart thudding. Couldn't risk trying to knock the cook out. He'd raise the alarm. Had to be fast.

The elf winced as the man drew his arm back for another blow. This shem was larger than Raviathan and the other elf put together. Raviathan slid forward. The human was just a cook. Had never wronged him. But he would, Raviathan knew. If Raviathan had been hired as a servant, this cook would turn those blows on him instead. We're nothing to these shems. Raviathan took the knife, gripping it in both hand, and drove it down into the human's left lung. Deep.

The elf collapsed then scrambled out of the way.

Instead of falling, the human staggered about, reaching dumbly behind him. He was too fat, too thick to reach the knife hilt. He turned and saw Raviathan for the first time. The man had heavy jowls, his head sitting atop his shoulders with only a thick roll suggesting a neck. His eyes were small, shocked in his meaty face.

The elf swung a log at the back of the cook's head, and Raviathan no longer had to look into the eyes of the first person he had ever killed.

"Terran."

Raviathan tore his eyes away from the spreading pool of red at the human's back. "What?"

"Terran. My name."

"Rav."

Soris came out of hiding, pale even by the glow of firelight. Terran nodded to him in greeting. "You're looking for the women? Milord's got them upstairs in his private rooms. I think you still have time since they only just got here." He shook his head. "If you get them, run. None of us are safe here anymore. With Urien, it was bad, but not… not like this."

"Wi-," Raviathan's voice cracked. "Will the servants go to the guards?"

"The elves'll run." He kicked the body of the cook. The body jiggled with the impact as if Terran had kicked a sack of lard. "This shem had it coming. Most of 'em here do."

"Can you help us at all?" Raviathan asked. "A map, some details of the building?"

Terran's gaze darted around the empty room. He turned his neck to listen to the low speech coming from the next room. "Okay. Suppose I owe you," he whispered. "Next room is the guard's dining hall." He sketched out a map with flour on the table, explained each room as he created lines in the white powder. "Experienced guards left with Urien. But you'll still need to deal with the rest that's stayed on. You can try and sneak your women out through the servants' passage, but it's tricky. Easy to get turned around and trapped. And Vaughan. I don't know. I don't know what you'll do. The guards'll find you soon enough." Terran glanced at Raviathan. "I don't know what you'll be doing to get them out of this. Or yourselves. Suicide if you ask me."

Soris whimpered, his knuckles white as he clung to the wrapped sword scabbard. "We were told to dress as servants. That we'd get farther if we did."

"I doubt most guards'll notice a new servant or two. Those who could signed up with the king or left. You can't get those women out by pretending they're servants though."

"Go on," Raviathan said to Terran. "Probably best you get out of the city then."

The elf nodded. "Make watch over you." Terran cut the dead cook's purse, and left with a hastily gathered sack of foodstuffs.

"Um, see if you can push him under the table," Raviathan said. "Then stack some sacks against him. Hide the body a bit." The first man I ever killed, Raviathan thought as he stared at the lumpy corpse. "I'll check out the next room. If you hear fighting, and you don't think you can help, just run."

"Y-yeah." Soris put a foot on the body and pushed. Brown spread across the corpse's pants. "Ugh. What…?"

"He's dead. That's what happens. Just… do what you can, okay?"

At least Soris wasn't thinking about his fear. He pulled his shirt up to cover his nose, got on the ground, and pushed with both feet to slowly scoot the body under the table.

The lard heavy shem left a wet stain on the floor. Soris grunted in disgust at the smell. The first person he had ever killed, thought Raviathan. He had seen death many times. Death stalked the alienage like starved wolves in winter, but this was the first that he was the sole cause. Not a disease, or cold, or neglect. Not the consequence of another's blade. Raviathan stared at the body, seeing shapes and colors as the world unkitted itself in his mind, but not a person.

The loose bowels of the dead never made it into the tales, heroic or otherwise. Memories of his mother's death rose at the back of his memory, the pain becoming fresh as a wound reopened. The dead have no dignity. Who had he been? Did he have family? There was more to this man than simply a cook who beat elves. Was he funny? Did he save scraps for the arl's dogs? Had he ever loved? Was he a disappointment to his parents? All that he had been was lost. Now he was a fat lump smelling of shit. A joke with no way to hide.

Raviathan listened at the door. Low voices. He took the sword Soris had carried and stowed it near the door. Time to see if he could pass as a servant. There weren't many in the dining hall. Three guards drunk at midday.

"You there, elf. Dry as a witch's snatch here. Get us something."

"Yes, milord." Raviathan kept his head down and hurried across the room to the small door that Terran said led to the alcohol storage. So, he passed as a servant to drunken guards at least.

"Did you see that bride? The pretty one? When Vaughan's done with her, maybe we can keep her in the barracks for a few weeks."

"Heh. Not much 'll be left of 'er wid all of us takin' turns."

"Still. Put a collar around her neck. Pet her when she learns a new trick. Couple weeks of training and she'll present willing as a bitch in heat."

"I'd like to do that with the red head. Muzzle her first though."

Raviathan could feel his heart pumping hard in his chest. He put a trembling hand over his heart, felt it hammer through his clothes. These men would never leave them alone. Even if he could sneak his wife, kin, and friends out, there was nothing to stop Vaughan and his guards from coming back again. And again. There wouldn't be any end.

His eyes caught the rat poison piled in small dishes around the edges of the room. Raviathan grabbed a half empty whisky bottle. The shems knew they could do whatever they wanted. Shems never had any fear. They took and stole. Greedy, grasping, and cruel. Raviathan carefully funneled one plate of rat poison after another into the bottle. They take from each other. They take from us. And why not? We can't stop them. He shook the bottle, watching as the powder dissolved. We have nothing but our anger and shame.

"Blasted knife ear. What took you so long?"

"Sorry, milord." Raviathan kept his head down, eyes lowered.

"Lazy knife ears."

Raviathan poured the liquid into each mug, bowed, and retreated back to the kitchen.

"Andraste's tits! This is some hard stuff."

With the door shut behind him, Raviathan felt calm. No more indecision. Raviathan's eyes slid to the bubbling stew over the fire.

Soris dropped the last bag that would cover the dead shem from a casual glance. "Rav?"

"I have a plan." The words made everything final. Energized, Raviathan hurried to his cousin. His mind sped up and went blank at the same time. Action without thought. Tying a scrap of cloth around Soris' head, Raviathan said, "You're going to serve lunch. You're going to make sure every guard who comes in gets a big bowl full of that stew." Raviathan dusted Soris' shirt with flour and smeared a bit of gravy across his cheek. "Go. Tell them lunch is ready."

"R-"

"Just go."

Once Soris was out the door, Raviathan hunted around for the bottle he knew had to be around. Where, where would that shem keep it? The pantry? Had to be away from the food, or the poison could contaminate everything. Not much time. Raviathan hunted through a box of dried herbs, canned fruits, and oats before he found the brown bottles. Careful, he smelled the contents of the first bottle-a fragrance of warm hay with an irritating undertone-and smiled.

Raviathan tasted the stew. Rich broth. It had been ages since Raviathan had tasted beef. The shem had been a decent chef. He added a cup of sugar to balance out the bitterness of the distilled sweet clover. How to hide the formaldehyde that acted as an agent? The herbs. Rosemary and other aromatics. A thick, black beer would bring out the bitterness again, but it would also distract from the flavor. Taste. Still too bitter to cover the poison. A jar of canned apples. Another taste. Syrupy sweet. The rest of the whiskey. Three full bottles of concentrated rat poison. Raviathan stirred the mix. A little flour to thicken. He placed a few drops on his tongue to taste then thoroughly rinsed his mouth. The taste was unusual. Odd, but not bad. The beer and apple was more interesting than he expected.

The stew ready, Raviathan tied a burlap fragment around his head as he had Soris. He pat a bit of flour on his face and hands to help conceal his skin. While the drunken guards hadn't cared, the others would likely take note of an exotic Northerner enough to recognize him as one of the grooms. The flour didn't do more than make him look sloppy, but he would look like he belonged in a kitchen. Raviathan grabbed the sharpest knives in the kitchen, his agitation growing as he waited for Soris. What in the Maker's name was taking him so long? Unless he got caught. Raviathan listened at the door expecting to hear the marching of boots, but there was only the continued joking from the three guards.

Raviathan stirred the stew again then paced. When he was about ready to charge into the hall, sword at the ready, Soris came in. "What took you so long," Raviathan whispered in anger.

"So long? Maybe ten minutes. Anyway, the guards are coming like you wanted."

"Fine. Help me carry the pot out."

"What… is it going to kill them?"

"No," Raviathan whispered as they both grabbed the handle of the heavy cauldron. He lowered his voice. "Not quickly enough anyway. It'll make them sleepy, disoriented. If we do fight, they'll bleed out quickly."

"Cous-"

"Shh." Guards began to fill the hall. "Get the bread and cheese. Bowls and whatever they need. I'll bring up some beer."

Soris nodded, grunting as they heaved the cauldron on the serving table. Raviathan hurried back to the storage room. Finding the same heavy black beer the cook had been drinking before, Raviathan poured in every last bottle of poison that had been in the pantry. The hall was half full of guards by the time he returned.

"Here, what's this?" a guard asked spying the keg Raviathan was carrying.

"Gift from milord. For a job well done."

"Ha!" the guard said turning to his fellows. "I's told ya. Vaughan knows how to treat a man, he does."

"Just you remember where your loyalties lie. Urien isn't going to be gone forever."

"Aye, but no harm in enjoying the spoils while he's gone. You, elf, fetch us some mugs."

"Yes, ser." Raviathan gave a quick bow and left for the kitchen. He wasn't sure, but a few of the guards had kept their eyes on him. Did they recognize him? "They want mugs. Are you okay with handling things here?"

"Yeah. Easier than I thought it'd be."

"Stay on your toes." Raviathan grabbed a skin of oil and the wrapped sword. "If you think one of the guards recognizes you, just run." He tossed fruit, cheese, and bread on a platter. "I'm going to take the lords their lunch."

"You need help?"

"No. Keep the guards distracted for as long as you can. More food or beer. Whatever they want." Raviathan held the sword under the platter, the skin over one arm.

"Got it. Good luck, cousin."

Back out in the dining hall, the guards were raising cups to their lord's health. "Elf, where are those mugs?"

"The boy will be right out with them," Raviathan said keeping his head down.

"What's this then?"

"Lunch for milord and his guests."

As he left, Raviathan heard, "That elf look familiar to you?"

"Just a knife ear."

"Yeah, but how many dark skinned elves are around here? After this morning, I don't…"

The door shut behind him. Oh Maker, just let them drink the beer and forget about me. Raviathan walked briskly knowing a run would give him away. Maker, please don't let me be too late. The guard walking down the hall set his heart racing. He dared not look the guard in the face, but the strain of uncertainty made him jumpy. He bowed to the guard as the man passed by. Thank the Maker servants were invisible.

"You there, elf."

Andraste's burning shit! Had this man been one of the guards at the alienage? Was he recognized? He dared not look the guard in the face. "Yes, milord?"

The guard's feet were pointed in his direction. "Lunch is served?"

"Yes, milord. Beef stew. Beer as a gift for this morning's services."

The guard grunted, his steps quicker as he left for the dining hall. The food on the platter was shaking as Raviathan continued to the main stairway. Was she alright? Had they touched her? Maker please, please. Not my Ness. Please, Maker. Her hair, bright in the morning sun. Smiling. Maker, don't break her light. Ask of me anything, and I will give it. Whatever your will, ask me, and I shall do anything to keep her whole. Please, Maker.

The stairs. There were two guards standing near the main door. "You there. Why aren't you using the servant's passage?"

Raviathan bowed, his fear crawling up his spine and over his shoulders like thousands of marching ants. "There was a spill. The stairs are being cleaned, milord. Too slippery."

The guard snorted. "On your way."

Raviathan bowed again. The further he went in, the more trapped he felt. Once up the stairs, there were fewer paths of escape. At the top, Raviathan crouched down. No guards or servants. The guards at the bottom couldn't see him through the banister. He pulled out the skin and squeezed out the oil at the center of the top of the stone steps. Staying low, he worked his way half way down the stair so that the oil was spread then crawled back up on hands and feet. If he was lucky, one of them would break their neck or crack a skull.

After wiping the residual oil off his fingers with the thin blanket, Raviathan stored the tray out of sight under a table. The library and study were on the left. The private quarters of the family and high level servants on the right. Most likely, they would be in the private quarters. He left the blanket on the tray and belted on the sword. Shadows would be his cover from here on. Maker, please let me make it in time.

Laughter. He followed the voices.

"What, you really going to do it?"

"Oh, mate, that's just sick."

"Maker's breath," a man said laughing. "Too bad. She has a nice pair of tits on her."

Raviathan unsheathed the sword as silently as he could and retrieved one of the knives he had stolen. The laughter continued. The door was cracked open, and while shadows moved in what little Raviathan could see, he had no idea of who was on the other side. Two voices, but at least three were on there. Holding his breath, Raviathan slowly pushed open the door. There were no sounds of alarm. Just laughter.

Three guards stood in a tight semi circle in the solar. Another was on the floor. The only way to the arl's chamber was forward. At least the guards were distracted, but four against one? Not the best odds. Why was that guard…?

Her neck was cut half off. Skin pale enough that she was translucent. Blood pooled, bright red, matting her dark hair. A slender arm lay limp in the blood, her fingers slightly curled. Ripped dress. Nola's breasts bounced with each thrust from the guard. Pale blue eyes stared ahead, unseeing. The dead have no dignity.

They didn't see him. Two died never knowing the cause.

"What?" A third reached for his sword.

The one on the floor looked up. "Heh. Wh-"

Raviathan took the standing guard's head off. A clean cut. The head fell, bounced with a metal clank of the man's helmet and skittered across the stone floor. The body continued to stand, dumb, before falling back, slowly as if through water. Raviathan's knife whipped forward, striking through the last guard's neck. The shem's breath hissed out, his eyes bulged when he couldn't scream. Blood filled his lungs as he tried to breath in. The headless guard's body hit the floor, a heavy clatter of metal on stone.

Nola. Raviathan kicked the dying guard's body off of her. The guard's cock slide out, wet and still hard. Oh, Nola. She lay there, bare to the world. Raviathan tore a tapestry and bundled her in the rich but dusty fabric. He set a torch to the tapestry. There was no time for this, but Raviathan couldn't move on until the tapestry started to burn. No one was going to see her like naked and abused like that. No one. If no one else saw, maybe she could still go to the Maker pure. Like she should have.

The keys were on the headless guard's body. Raviathan ripped them off and continued. Any mercy he might have had was gone. Please, Maker. Ask of me anything, and I shall do your will. Please, let her be safe.

The first door was locked. After fiddling with the keys for what seemed like an eternity, his hands shaking, Raviathan got the door opened. Empty bedroom. Cursing silently, he went the next and fumbled with the lock. A feminine gasp. "Hey," he whispered as loud as he dared. "It's me."

"Rav?"

Raviathan's heart leapt into his throat. "Ness. I'm here. Are you alright?"

"Yes." She was next to the door. "They took Nola, Miram, and Shianni. The rest of us have been left here."

Why by Andraste's burning tits did these shems need so many Maker damned keys! He tried to will his hands to stop shaking, but Ness was right there. Just one piece of wood separating them. "Ness, you're alright? Swear it to me."

"My arm is a little bruised from the guard, but that's all. I swear, husband."

Blast these keys. When he finally got the door open, his wife was there. She was whole. "Oh, Maker. Ness." He kissed her, wished he could stay there until his shaking stopped. He tried to blink back his tears now that he could see her. The other four came up to the door. "No, wait. Stay hidden for now. There are guards all around."

"Guards?" Valora retreated a step. "But how will be get out?"

"You'll get out," Raviathan said. "Let me clear the rest of the wing first." He looked to his wife for support.

Nesiara nodded then turned back to the others. "It'll only be a minute. He's gotten this far, and I'm sure he has a plan."

Raviathan closed the door and whispered thanks to the Maker. The adjacent door was locked and empty. Last one. It had to be Vaughan's. Unlocked. Thank the Maker for small favors.

Vaughan's broad back faced him. The rich velvet of his doublet had swirls of gold embroidered vines. He was every inch the wealthy lord. Laughter. Grunts. Movement on the ground.

No.

No… not that.

Of all things, Maker why?

One shem had Shianni's wrists over her head, pinned down under his knees. His hand over her mouth. Keeping her from screaming. Not even allowed to scream.

The other…

Oh, cousin. Images of their lives together sped through his mind like flashes of lightning. Two. His first memory, holding her hand and listening to his mother's story. Four. The two of them, naked in a tub, splashing each other to his mother's frustration. Six. Raviathan giving her a wooden toy of a strange deer with laced horns, his favorite toy, when she was crying. Eight. Learning to dance, his mother's singing, Shianni laughing when he fell over his own too large feet. Ten. Playing on the banks of the Drakon River, pretending to be pirates, her laughter and bright red hair as she brandished a stick that was her saber. Twelve. Her face, scowling at him, trying to get him to stop messing around with the alienage girls for his own good. Fourteen. Weeping on her shoulder when his mother died, her fingers running through his hair. Sixteen. She was rubbing his back after one of his patients died, making him a horrible meal because she didn't know how to cook. Eighteen. Wrestling with her on the stage the day he met his wife.

Shianni…


	15. Married Life – Fire and the Blood

_Trigger Warning: Continuation of the events from Chapter 14: language, subjection, rape, violence, and murder._

~o~O~o~

"What are…you're not one of the servants."

Vaughan dodged back. The sword strike slashed across his stomach, splitting his gold and red velvet doublet. Not deep enough to kill him, though he had no armor to protect him. Raviathan didn't remember striking. His arms, his body, moved of its own accord. Vaughan reached for his knife as blood seeped out from between his fingers. "You bloody knife ear! I'll have you flayed!"

Vaughan caught his second strike with his dagger, the impact jarring Raviathan's arm. Raviathan angled his sword to push Vaughan's arm wide then stepped in with his knife. He watched Vaughan's face as the knife went in to the hilt. The shock as the knife penetrated. His small, blue eyes changing when he realized he was going to die. Raviathan stabbed with his knife again, angling up under the ribcage. He felt the warmth of Vaughan's life blood spill onto his hand. Raviathan growled, "Never again."

The other two were moving. Raviathan caught them out of the corner of his eye. He kicked Vaughan back and turned to face them. One reached for his sword. The other was struggling, his pants about his ankles. White smallclothes lay in tatters on the floor. Shianni. Her long, pale legs. A tiny splatter of blood on one thigh. The thin line of his seed that trailed like a spider strand between their bodies before snapping.

No mercy. No forgiveness. He wanted blood. Raviathan slipped through space, movement without thought. Blood splattered his face when he took off the shem's head. Hot drops, last of the shem's life. The other was making noise. Babbling. His hands were up before him, as if that would stop what was coming. He went down to his knees, his pants still unlaced and pooled below him. Raviathan's sword swipe took off the tops of the shem's fingers and split his throat.

Three bodies. It wasn't enough. Raviathan wanted to kill them again. He stood there with three lords at his feet. Not enough. His bloodied weapons dripped at his sides. Never enough. Rage boiled in him, writhing like a living thing. He wanted to burn the world. The heart inside him howled, beating too fast. Hot blood and fire, and he would feed his wrath as the world burned before him.

Shianni backing to the wall snapped him out of his thoughts. She whimpered, ashen, hurt. She scrabbled to get her dress down. Shaking, clumsy from pain, she huddled there staring at the bodies. His weapons dropped, thudding dully on the carpet. The beginnings of a bruise marked half her face. More bruises on her arms, wrists, and neck. Her gasp brought him short. "Shianni?" Raviathan knelt so that he was eye level with her. "Shianni?"

She stared at the bodies, the blood. When Raviathan moved forward, she flinched back. "Cousin, it's me. Cousin?"

Her eyes were on him then, but she didn't seem to see.

"Cousin?" Raviathan reached forward.

"Don't!" Raviathan froze. Her eyes stared through him. "Stay away!"

The words were like a knife. "Cousin? Don't you recognize me? It's Rav."

A tear slipped out, falling quickly to her dress. "Please," she whispered. "Stay away. I don't want anyone to touch me."

Raviathan sat back on his heels. What to do? What could he do? Helpless. Too late. His mother, his aunt, Nola, Shianni. He had always been too late.

They weren't out of danger yet. There were other guards. "Shianni, I'm going to send Ness and Valora to look after you. I still need to take care of a few things." Oh, cousin. I'm sorry. Maker forgive me.

Raviathan took Vaughan's dagger and the sword from the dead lord along with the weapons he had dropped. What either lord's name was, Raviathan didn't know. He knocked on the door where the rest of the women waited, told Valora and Nesiara that Shianni was in the other room, that she was afraid.

"Valora," Nesiara said, "stay here. Watch the others. I'll get her."

"Ness," Raviathan whispered so the others couldn't hear. "The three lords are dead. So are the guards outside the corridor."

"I knew from the blood," she whispered back. "But thanks for warning me. I'll take care of her, my love."

Raviathan handed her the keys. "Lock yourselves in. Soris or I will come for you."

She nodded. "Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all."

Nola's body was still burning in the chamber. Where was Miram? Raviathan looked down at the guard, his cock still out. Such a pathetic thing to do so much damage. On impulse, Raviathan cut it off. Watched the blood sputter out. The little piece of flesh laying there. The dead have no dignity.

Shouts from ahead. Raviathan's head snapped up. Grabbing a bow and quiver from a dead guard, he ran to the corridor that separated the two upper wings. A well dressed man stood at the top of the stair, a hand over his mouth. Another lord? He was easily in his fifth decade. "Is he alive?"

A voice from below. "Can't tell. What happened?"

"He was on the stair and slipped."

Raviathan crept up until he was behind the shem. Grey hair. Fine clothes strained at his round belly. A high level servant. Steward or chamberlain? Raviathan sent a vicious kick in the small of his back. The shem let out a surprised yelp, his arms going out protectively in front of him, and down the stairs he fell. He slipped and crunched, his blood mixing with the oil.

Not waiting, Raviathan sent and arrow down into the guard's face. Another well dressed servant, presumably the one who had slipped, lay unmoving at the bottom of the stair.

"To arms! To arms!"

Raviathan sent another arrow at the remaining guard. The guard tried to duck behind his sword. The arrow hit him in the shoulder. The guard's armor kept it from going deep. Damn. Raviathan released another arrow. The guard had his shield up covering his torso, but that's not where Raviathan had aimed. The guard cried out as a second arrow vibrated, embedded well into his thigh.

"To arms!"

Blast him! Another arrow twanged and found its target. Raviathan cursed. Unless he was lucky enough to hit an artery, he was wasting his arrows.

Barking dogs. A chill went down Raviathan's spine at the sound, a primitive fear that sidestepped reason. The hounds brayed, the owner yelling, "Where?"

"Up on the second floor. He's got a bow."

"Not for much longer, he doesn't. Hounds, attack!"

Raviathan saw them. Giant, brawny dogs that were all rippling muscle. The skittered, their claws scrabbling for purchase on the stone. Their shoulders were massive, all bunching power ready to release. The hounds growled and snapped, their eyes focused only on him.

Maker, please! Raviathan grabbed the torch from the sconce on the wall hoping beyond hope that the dogs would be afraid of fire. So fast. The first one bounded twice, almost up the stairway. Its claws skittered, and it slipped in the oil. Raviathan threw the torch at it, reflexes from fear. The other two were race up when the oil caught. The hounds squealed in pain, oil coating their fur. Raviathan could smell them burning.

"My dogs!"

The animals were crazed with fear. One hit the banister, the now oil coated wood seizing the fire. Another dog jumped to the floor below, clumsy in confusion and pain. The third tried jumping blindly in the other direction. The tapestry on the wall started to burn, small licks of flame hovering at the base.

The guard with three arrows sticking out of him had lowered his shield in shock at the scene. Raviathan took the chance to aim. The guard crumpled from the killing blow.

"Copper!" The hound master tried to go to the burning animal. The dog tore off down the hall deeper into the estate, his fur still on fire. Raviathan let loose an arrow into the unprotected hound master. It took a second to kill the man. The kennel master had been that dog's only hope. Sorry, dog. Raviathan didn't have many arrows left, but he used them on the two animals. If I can find you, dog, I'll end it quickly.

A guard who ran headlong to the stairs slipped on the oil. He cried out as fire heated his armor. Other guards gathered at the base. One tried to smother the fire off the guard, but the tapestry he used caught as well. "Fire! Get a water brigade!"

The tapestry down the hall moved. Raviathan turned, an arrow notched. Guards came, one after another through the hidden servants' passage. More pooled below.

Raviathan sent an arrow into the first two guards. So many. Too many. They kept pouring out like water from a broken damn. A torrent of them. Armed, armored, and trained. He didn't have the advantage of surprise anymore. He pulled his sword and dagger, retreating to the door to the solar. At least they wouldn't flank him, but his end was only a matter of time.

The guards were yelling. "An elf! The elves came after all!"

"Water! Hurry, before it catches the roof timbers!"

"To arms!"

The first guard was there, sword out and swinging for him. Raviathan ducked, his own sword piercing from below. The armor slowed his blade before it could do any major damage. The guard grunted and readied his sword for another attack, his shield now before him. The guard's first attack had been clumsy, limited as he was by the narrowness of the doorway. He was ready now with a clear path. Sword high, the guard's arm started to shake. Shock registered in his face a second before blood poured out of his mouth.

The poison. Raviathan felt his features twist, but into a smile or snarl, he wasn't sure. He kicked at the guard's exposed knee then slashed at the shem's throat. Blood flowed out like water. Raviathan kicked him back into his fellows on the other side of the door.

"You're all dead!" Raviathan yelled at them. If they didn't die today, they would be dead within the week as the poison broke down their bodies. Bruises wouldn't heal, cuts would continue to bleed. In time, their vessels and veins would leak, the fluid unstopped. They would bleed internally, slowly drowning in the flood of their own blood. Or he would make them bleed externally. Vaughan and those bastard lords were dead. A good portion of the guards would be. If nothing else, Raviathan knew he had taken a stand.

Raviathan lashed out, confidence clearing away uncertainty. Enough bruises, a few cuts, and the guards were clumsy from the poison. He still had a chance. Ness was depending on him. His wife and kin, his friends from childhood. He raised his dagger to parry a blow, his sword diving forward. He thrust with his sword again knowing he didn't have to land a killing blow anymore in order to kill. The guard doubled over, dark blood trickling from his mouth. "You're all dead!"

Calls for water carried up from main gate. Smoke hung in a haze. Wood popped. The light from the corridor brightened when the gates opened. Those idiots, Raviathan thought with satisfaction. The fire roared with new life. What had been alarm calls for order became frenzied.

The guard who came up to replace the two dead was pale. The poison, the alcohol, a crazed elf, and now a fire. Their morale was shaken. Raviathan lunged, stabbing the guard in the midsection. Good. The shem before him was blonde, the color of weak piss. He was young, barely in his manhood. He was terrified. When Raviathan brought his blade down for the killing blow, the shem didn't even defend against it. The blade cut down, deep into the exposed soft tissues of the guard's neck. Blood leaked out like wine.

Another guard came and died. And another. Raviathan bared his teeth, the fire roaring in the corridor. And another fell. Another. Burn the world. Their blood spread out like a red carpet over stone. When no more took the place of the fallen, Raviathan looked back into the corridor. The wooden banister was ablaze like a wall of flame. The tapestry carried the fire to the rafters. No guards in sight, only yells from below. Afraid the flames would block them in, the guards had all retreated.

Soris! Would he be safe? He had no way to defend himself. The only weapon at his disposal was a butcher's knife and a bow he'd had next to no practice with. Even if he ran out the servant's entrance, the guards would follow or go through the main gate. Oh, Soris. I'm sorry. Damn it. Too late. Soris, I hope you ran when you had the chance. If I had planned better…

Raviathan raced back. The door to Vaughan's room was open, but only the dead remained. Wrath rekindled at the sight of the bodies. How many years had these shems been haunting his people? If not for this day, these men would have continued their crimes for decades. They didn't even have to hide rape or murder. They could violate his people at any time with full support of the city's guards. The walls that had been the elves' safety, walls that loomed over their lives, were nothing. Fragile illusions. He had seen a purge. Had seen his mother die. How had he not seen the world for what it was before? As long as there were shems, his people would never be safe.

Bitterness filled Raviathan like acid. The threat of these lords, these nobles, lurked behind every shem. Some had more power than others, but they were all the same. Raviathan wasn't a person. Not Shianni, not Nola. No elf was. Just subhumans to them, little better than animals to be petted or beaten at a lord's whim. Burn the world. Fire overwhelmed his mind. Bright orange flame danced, swirled like a tornado inside him, cleaning him out. Without conscious thought, Raviathan emasculated their bodies. He shoved the soft bits of flesh into their mouths. Take from us no more.

Glancing back to make sure no guards had followed, Raviathan took a few minutes to plunder what he could from the rooms. Purses, weapons, their jewelry and finery, anything small of value.

"Ness!" He knocked on the door. "We have to go. The building is on fire."

"Fire!" a voice squeaked. The lock clicked a second before the door flew open.

"We have time to escape. It's a good distraction, but we must hurry." He looked beyond Valora to see Nesiara help Shianni up. The sight of his cousin pained him as if a giant was squeezing his chest. How much damage had been done? No time. "Don't be afraid of the fire. Stay close to the wall and follow me."

Gasps at the guards' bodies in the solar. More at the pile in the corridor just beyond. Shianni wailed, "So much blood."

"Everyone, we're going for the servants' passage. Stay low and next to the wall. Understand?"

Most nodded. Shianni didn't look at anything. Nesiara was focused on the fire, the bright orange flames reflected in her face.

"Ness?"

She turned to him, nodding once, calm.

The guards were still shouting orders as they tried to get the fire under control. Led by Raviathan, the elves made their way to the servants' door hidden behind a tapestry. The passage was dark, near black after the daylight and flames, cool without the haze of choking smoke. Raviathan felt along the narrow passage with one arm outstretched and another trailing along a wall. When they came to a fork, Raviathan took the right to lead them back to the kitchens. He might have to fight more, but that was the one way he knew out other than the guard heavy main doors. A light from below illuminated that path. A sign from the Maker?

Raviathan hurried down the tight corkscrew stairs eager to be gone. Maybe this exited into the dining hall. Raviathan was sure he could deal with a few poisoned guards. Get out, make a break for the estate exit.

Wait. The corridor… went left? "Who in the Maker's name designed this place?" Raviathan muttered.

"There! An elf!"

Maker's puss spewing ass! "All of you, get back. Go the other way. Wait for me at the top." Raviathan pulled two daggers. Their smaller size would be useful in the narrow passage instead of the long sword. "If you hear anyone coming from the other direction, go back into…" One of the women shrieked as a guard came barreling up. "Go!"

Raviathan got his daggers up in time. He formed a cross to catch the guard's sword, grunting at the effort to stop the sword. In that second, Raviathan got a good look at the guard. He was flushed, but not from poison. The barracks were on the left of the estate. Healthy guards. Raviathan's heart sank. With Vaughan dead, there was no reason to keep the women. But the guards didn't know Vaughan was dead. Even if they had, the guards would probably execute any elves just for vengeance.

The guard's sword thrust forward. Raviathan slammed into the wall to dodge in the narrow confines. Braced against the wall, he kicked out hoping to connect with the guard's knee. The guard dodged in time, sacrificing his balance to do so. Raviathan took the opportunity to strike out. He got a glancing blow, but nothing serious. The guard rushed him, using his size to overwhelm his smaller opponent. Raviathan feigned to one side then slipped past the guard's flank. Gotcha. He thrust his dagger up into the exposed area under the guard's arm.

The shem bellowed. He whirled about, but Raviathan kept pace at the shem's back, narrowly ducking the shem's elbow strike. Raviathan struck hard at the shem's kidney. The armor slowed his blade, but Vaughan's silverite dagger was superior to the guard's steel armor. The blade dove in, driving the shem to his knees. One final thrust, then Raviathan slid his second dagger across the shem's soft neck.

Raviathan pulled the dagger out, tired but grateful that he still stood. Two more guards entered the corridor. The mass of their bodies taking up space like a wall. Maker, do you hate elves? Raviathan grabbed the dead guard's crossbow. At least it was impossible to miss the oncoming shems. The first got his shield up, but the bolt slammed into the shoulder of the second shem. Raviathan dropped the crossbow, grabbed his daggers, and closed the distance until they were only five paces apart. The guards would keep coming from this direction making the women vulnerable from an attack from behind. If he could get to the servants' entrance on this side, maybe he could find some way to secure the door.

Miram. She was still here, somewhere. Was she still alive? With the other women, waiting and defenseless, he couldn't justify going after her. Leave her, and her death would haunt him for the rest of his life. Try and find her, he put the others in further jeopardy.

The second guard, a shem with a dark goatee, had a two handed sword strapped to his back. The weapon was useless in the corridor. The real challenge was the sword and shield shem. The man looked to be in his forties, aged for a guard. Age would make him slower, but he was also experienced.

"Our lord," the older guard said. "Does he live?"

"No."

The guard's lips thinned. "That was a mistake, knife ears."

"So was kidnapping my wife." Raviathan felt like spitting in the shem's face, but he dared not get that close. Yet. "So was raping my kin."

The goateed guard had his hand on the bolt embedded in his shoulder, wincing as he tried to pull it out. "You've no hope, cock rider. When we're done with you, we'll be taking every pretty whore in that alienage and chaining them in the dungeons. You'll never see the light of day again. You'll have a river of cum flowin' out your ass."

Why bother telling him? Were they stalling? Why deliberately provoke him? Raviathan took two steps back. He saw the frustration on the guards' faces. A trap? Had to be. But surely they knew how to disarm it. The other guard hadn't been caught. Raviathan backpedaled. If they weren't willing to approach, he could get the crossbow and simply fire at them from a safe distance.

"Maker spit on you!" The goateed guard slammed his fist into the side of the corridor, hitting a release button. After a mechanized click sounded, the two charged. The young guard surged forward, pushing the older shem out of the way.

Impetuous idiot. He thought size was everything in fighting, even with a bolt in his shoulder and his main weapon useless. Raviathan dodged back as the shem's knife slashed at him. He dodged again, putting more distance between them and the older guard. At the guard's third attack, Raviathan sidestepped. Using the guard's strike momentum, Raviathan pushed the unbalanced shem's arm high to expose the vulnerable underarm not covered by armor. With a quick and wicked slash, Raviathan cut the man's arm to the bone. The shem's scream ended in a bloody gurgle as Raviathan finished him off.

The other guard had been watching him. The stared at each other, and Raviathan realized the guard had been watching him to learn his technique. This guard wasn't a dumb, green recruit. The brutality of such a tactic, to watch his compatriot die, just so he could learn, chilled Raviathan. Weren't there any shems with feeling? Wolves in human skin. The shem feigned a strike. Raviathan skittered backwards.

"So. You're afraid. Not so dumb, are you."

No point in talking. Raviathan feigned in high with his daggers hoping the shem would defend and leave his legs unprotected for a kick. The guard raised his shield as Raviathan expected. A movement at the last second was his only warning. He jumped back, the shem's sword grazing his leg. Raviathan's breath caught at the stinging pain in his leg. It wasn't deep, he knew, but he'd never been injured in combat before.

This man was better than he was. Had more experience. Wasn't poisoned. What to do? Retreat up the stairs? The shem could easily pick up the crossbow and finish him off. Force him back to trigger the trap? Not with this shem. There were no witnesses here. He could… no. Last resort only. This man had more experience, but Raviathan was sure he was faster. If only he understood sword and shield tactics better.

Raviathan put the shem through a series of feints to get a sense of his movements. The shem didn't turn like he should. Raviathan tried again, forcing the shem to defend from the side. The guard did so, but he was awkward. Injured? Is that why he was left behind? The shem could be faking, luring Raviathan into a trap. The smart tactic would be to keep testing the shem to make sure. Make the man reveal himself. He didn't have time though. There was no telling what happened to Soris. There could be more guards taking the women hostage. Or executing them.

Deciding that the best tactic would be to end the fight as soon as possible, Raviathan took a chance and struck out for the shem's vulnerable side. The guard grunted, heaved his sword with alarming speed. It was a trap. Raviathan tried to dodge back from the sword by moving to the shem's shield side. The shield rushed at him. Raviathan got his arm up to brace, but there was no time. He tensed a split second before impact. His lungs empty, he gritted his teeth as the shield slammed into him, knocking him into the wall.

"Rav, duck!"

Nesiara? Partially stunned by the shield, Raviathan had no problem sliding down the wall. A bolt thudded into the guard's chest a second later. The shem gasped, staring down at the bolt. Raviathan took the opportunity to thrust his dagger into the shem's inner leg. Right at the artery. Blood flowed out freely as the shem backpedaled. He fell over the body of his fellow, his breath coming in heavy, sharp gasps.

Raviathan turned to see his wife, the crossbow in her hands. "Is he?"

"Soon," Raviathan said, pushing against the wall to get to his feet. He blinked rapidly and waited for the room to still. "I told you to run."

"Soris came. He's leading the others out."

"Soris?" Thank the Maker he's alive.

Nesiara tugged Raviathan's shirt sleeve. "He had the sense to take some armor off a guard. He's got a sword and shield. Said the way was clear to the kitchens where they could get out."

"Then why are you here? Ness…"

"I looked in the study and library for Miram and Nola. I can't find them. I think they must be in the barracks if they're still here."

"Nola is dead. Ness, please. Run now."

"The whole estate is in chaos. I'm not leaving until we find Miram." Raviathan opened his mouth to protest. "No, Rav. I'm with you." When he opened his mouth again, Nesiara hoisted the crossbow and held it at rest across her chest. "I can be stubborn too. And we're wasting time while the estate burns. My love, I'll stay behind you, but I'm not leaving without you."

Maker's breath. His wife. She had the heart of a lion. "Have you used one of those before?"

"No. Doesn't seem too hard."

"Keep your finger off the trigger and to the side, like this. Otherwise you might accidentally shoot. Also, make sure you don't point it at me, so carry it facing that direction. Yes, that's right. Sometimes they go off on their own."

"Got it."

"Get the bolt case. And the second…"

"I'll run. I know, love."

"Maker forgive me." He should make her go. Raviathan turned, went to the spot he knew a trap was laid, and searched. Once he knew it was there, the latch wasn't hard to find. He rolled one of the guard's helmets across, saw it bump over the trigger. Nothing. "Let's go."

Raviathan listened at the exit. Distant shouts from the guards working to stop the fire. A tapestry concealed the door from the outside. No guards in the hall. "Ness," Raviathan whispered, "keep watch behind me."

She nodded. Privies on the right, and the barracks should be up ahead. The captain of the guard's room was at the back and led to the dungeons below. Kennels on the right. Smoke drifted in wisps along the roof. By the sounds of the guards, the fire had continued to spread despite their efforts. Maker guide us. The two skulked along the corridor. Raviathan tried the first door. Locked. "Maker's ass."

"What is it? And don't curse like that."

"I left the keys upstairs."

"I've got them." Nesiara handed him the crossbow then set to work on trying the keys. Her hands were much steadier than his had been. "Got it."

"Stand back in case anyone is on the other side." Raviathan handed her back the crossbow. Ready with his sword, Raviathan flung open the door. Armor room. No Miram. Raviathan left for the next door.

"Wait. Let's at least get some armor."

"Nothing is going to fit us," Raviathan said, but Nesiara was already inside.

"Husband, all it takes is one arrow. Please." She picked up padding that was twice her size and belted it into place before adding a chainmail shirt.

"Pick out a dagger, and get some more bolts." Raviathan scanned the room. Chainmail wasn't bad, but it wasn't silent either. Two of the stands in the back had studded leather armor. That would do. Picking between the smallest and better quality, Raviathan did his best to fit the overlarge armor. He needed extra belts to secure everything, but it was enough. Picking a long bow he could work with, Raviathan belted it on with that Warden's sword, the extra from the lord, and secured a quiver with as many arrows as he could shove into it. He had to admit, he was feeling much more secure now.

In one chest, he found a small pack of concentrated elfroot potions. He took one and downed it. The sting in his thigh ebbed. The lingering dizziness from the shield blow left. Stowing the rest away, he turned to leave.

The chainmail was long on his wife. It ended halfway down her thighs, her wedding dress flowing beneath. White dress, steel chain, and blonde hair braided into a corona. She looked like the paintings of Andraste as the Warrior Bride come to life. "You know, Ness, you look good in chainmail."

She squinted at him. "Just… don't get distracted."

"Can you move alright in the armor?"

"Yes. It's not as heavy as I thought it'd be."

They went through each of the barracks but found nothing beyond chests and bunk beds. The captain's room was large, opulent by the standards of the rest of the guards. Raviathan's lips thinned. "That's the door to the dungeon. With the fire, this building could collapse."

"What about that room we passed?"

"Kennels. She wouldn't be there." At Nesiara's silence, Raviathan turned to her, a silent question on his face.

"Let's try there first." They hurried back down the hall. The smoke was getting thicker, darker. "The guards kept making jokes. Muzzles and training. Bitches," she whispered.

The door swung open before Nesiara inserted the first key. Rows of large box cages lined both sides of the room with hay and dishes in each. Raviathan stared in horror at the burned dog that lay in the middle of the room. The dog's flesh was gone in places, the rest of him oozing. Pink and charred. When the animal whimpered, Nesiara covered her mouth. "Oh Maker. How… how could these men be so cruel? I don't… why would anyone do this?"

The dog whimpered again, a low pathetic mewl. Raviathan thought of the dog he had injured a month ago. The high pitched squeal of pain. Fresh in his ears. The dog's eyes were gone. The whimpering increased when Raviathan got close. "Sorry, dog," he whispered and slit the animal's throat.

Nesiara still had her hand over her mouth when she went to the first cage. "Ness! Don't!"

She jumped back, startled. The dog inside the cage was watching them. All the dogs were. Raviathan's blood chilled. They knew. Maker! He had heard stories of how smart the mabari were, but this? They were all standing, all perfectly still, watching him like malevolent statues.

"Rav? They could be killed in the fire."

"No," he said, his voice low. "They're waiting for you to open the cages. So they can attack."

"What? Don't be silly. Dogs…"

"Come here."

When she left, as if on cue, all the dogs charged their cages. They barked and snarled, biting at the metal that bound them. Nesiara shrieked in surprise. "How… how did you know?"

Raviathan held her, her back pressed against his chest, terrified all over again at how close she came to being mauled. Oh, Ness please. You shouldn't be here. I have to get you out.

"Help!"

They turned to the voice at the end of the kennels. Nesiara ran, moving out of his arms too soon for comfort. "Miram, we'll get you out."

"Thank the Maker." Miram sat, naked and huddled, in the last cage. Bruises covered her body. Blood trailed from a cut on her lip and lesion to her head. Her skin was split in places and a thick collar with a D ring was strapped around her neck. Raviathan found her clothes tossed in a corner and brought them over. At least her dress and shoes fit through the bars. She cried when she saw him. "Rav. I didn't think there was any hope."

"Did they…?" Raviathan couldn't finish. The guard's grunts. Nola's pale blue eyes staring without seeing, her body exposed. Shianni. Shems laughing. Laughing. Couldn't scream. For a moment Raviathan couldn't breathe. His throat closed, dry, jerking. He put a hand over his neck in terror that he was choking.

"Rape me? No. They weren't far from it, but then there was a panic. I heard them yell fire."

"Keys," Nesiara said turning to Raviathan. "These keys aren't for the cages."

Raviathan's throat had eased at Miram's words, but the relief was short lived. "Andraste's ass. If they're with the kennel master, his body is in the middle of the Main Hall. Right where all the guards are and a very big fire."

"Maybe they have a copy around?" Nesiara started searching through the equipment.

Raviathan handed Miram an elfroot potion then tested the cage gate. Solid. No prying it open. He glanced at the mabari. No wonder. The dogs were fearsome beasts. "Keep looking. I'm going to see if there's a war hammer in the armory. Maybe we can break the door."

Raviathan hurried to the door. It swung open just as he was about to reach for the handle.

"Blasted knife ears. You're the cause of all this."

Nesiara gasped. No, Raviathan thought. The threat of this shem was all the more real with her in the room. Raviathan backpedaled, avoiding the shem's first strike until he could ready his own weapons. Another guard followed, brought by the sound of the dogs.

"Those men. They were my friends," the guard screamed at him, another furious swipe of his sword. "A hundred of your whore kind aren't worth one of them."

Raviathan had his blades out. With the two attackers he had little option but to defend. He kept backing further into the room so they wouldn't flank him.

"You're all whores and thieves! We should have set fire to that cesspit and been done with your kind years ago! Worthless!"

Sensing an opportunity, Raviathan ducked to the side of the silent guard. The silverite dagger struck deep, metal screeching against metal adding to the cacophony of barking dogs. The enraged shem jerked. His attacks stopped, so Raviathan kept after the silent guard. He parried a blow then kicked at the guard's knee. It crunched under his foot. The guard screamed and fell. The enraged shem jerked again, face frozen. His watery blue eyes were bugged out, the whites around his irises clear. Raviathan finished off the crippled guard. When he turned back to the enraged shem, the man jerked a third time. He fell forward on his face, three thick, black bolts sticking out of his back.

Raviathan met his wife's eyes. The calm eyes of a lioness.

When all of this was done, he was going to teach her how to use a sword and bow.

She returned to searching for keys. He left to find a hammer.

The corridor was empty save for the gray haze of smoke that hung thick in the air. Raviathan covered his mouth. His eyes teared from the smoke. The fire roared, audible over the terror of men. Orange tinted the end of the hallway mingled with the pure white of daylight. One man started screaming. Stupid shems. Water would only cause the burning oil to spread. Let this horror be your funeral pyre.

When he returned with a heavy hammer, he saw Nesiara trying to pry the lock with a knife. "Stand back. Ness, keep an eye on the door."

The lock only fractured and embedded the bolt at the first strike. Frustrated, Raviathan hammered at the bars until Miram could squeeze through with their help. He stared at the collar around her slender neck. Those hateful shems. They act like animals and put us in collars. It wasn't humiliating enough to strip her, they had to take away everything that made her a person.

"It's locked," Miram said, catching his look, her own rage burning in turn. "I need a knife to cut it off."

"We need to get out first. Follow me. Stay low and cover your mouths." Miram stooped to grab one of the dead guard's sword. Raviathan hurried to the corridor, the two following after. The smoke seared his throat. Even with his mouth covered, he had to fight to keep from coughing.

A crash thundered from the front, hard enough that the stone floor vibrated. A panicked voice called, "The servants' passage. The only way out."

Three guards ran their way. To the Abyss with these shems! "Both of you, get low to the ground," Raviathan whispered.

Nesiara kneeled, aimed, and sent a bolt into the shadow of one of the oncoming men. Raviathan's sword and dagger were out. The bolt missed, alerting the guards. "The elves!"

Though hard to see, Raviathan thought they were all sword and shield men. The crossbow mechanism sounded, and a man cried out in pain. "Don't shoot unless you can see who you're shooting," Raviathan said and charged. He flanked to the right catching a guard by surprise. The shems were just as affected by the smoke, their vision blurry. Inexperienced too. Raviathan swept the guard's sword to the side and thrust his blade into the man's stomach. A good strike, but the guard's armor kept it from being lethal. The guard grunted then started coughing.

Raviathan danced back to keep from being flanked. Instead of a sword, the middle guard had a hammer. The hammer guard stepped forward, brushing Raviathan's sword aside with his shield, and swinging the hammer at his side. Raviathan leapt back, the hammer getting a glancing blow on his side. Breathing hard from the fight, Raviathan struggled not to cough. Once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. His eyes stung, tears blurring his vision. The guard stepped in again, this time striking out with his shield. Raviathan tried to dodge, but the shield caught him in the chest.

The first guard he attacked spied Miram and rushed her. The crossbow twanged again, followed by a thud and, "Cock riding bitch!"

No time. Raviathan kicked at the guard's knee knowing he would either dodge or raise his shield in protection. Dodging would put the guard off balance, defending low with his shield would leave an opening. The guard did both. Raviathan sidestepped and swung his blade down on the unprotected back of the man's thigh. The guard yelled. Distracted by the strike, Raviathan moved in with his dagger and plunged it into the shem's eye.

Raviathan turned. Both women retreated doing their best to defend with weapons they had never used. Miram clutched at her stomach. Red stained her dress from the wound. The guard attacking Nesiara lumbered with a bolt in his stomach, but she was still no match for him. She grunted when the guard scored a hit on her side, but his steel did not penetrate her chainmail. She would be bruised by the blow, but not a severe injury. Raviathan plunged the silverite dagger into the guard attacking Nesiara. The shem gave a hoarse cry then choked on the hazy air.

"Help her," Raviathan said. Nesiara turned her attention to the remaining shem. Raviathan kicked the back of the shem's knee, forcing the man down. A final swipe along the guard's neck.

Both women were panting and favoring their injuries. Had the guard another six months of experience, the two would be dead. Stupid to go after them anyway. Raviathan wasted no time. He kicked the guard in the stomach to push him away from the women, then struck. In less than a minute, the shem was dead at his feet.

Miram fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. Raviathan knelt next to her and offered one of the elfroot potions. "Easy there." He rubbed her back as he tipped the potion for her to drink. She whimpered, her hands over her wounded stomach, and leaned into him. "It'll be alright, Miram."

"Those bastards," she whispered. Her hands clutched, knuckles white. Tears leaked from smoke reddened eyes when she looked up at him. "They were laughing when they stripped me. Laughing when they whipped me."

"No one will ever know. The guards who did that are dead." Raviathan carefully cut the collar off with the silverite dagger. He wrapped her fingers around the leather. No one was going to know about Nola either. "Come on. We still need to get out."

Raviathan squeezed Nesiara's hand then headed down the hallway, tearing down two tapestries as he went.

"Not the servants' passage," Nesiara asked.

"Front gates. I want us out of here. Hurry."

"The fire," Miram said in horror. "We… we can't."

Nesiara took her hand. "You heard him. Come on. We'll be fine."

Miram whimpered as she was dragged towards the roaring nest of fire.

Heat pounded from the hall. The grey haze turned red and finally brilliant orange as they got closer. The fire boiled along the banister, spread along the oil splashed floor, perched like a monstrous bird of prey over the room, its wings raised to swoop down. The crash had been one of the roof timbers. It lay, splintered and broken, charred black, an ominous gate that popped and snapped, its jaws made of flame. The fire scorched, stole the very air to feed itself.

Raviathan flung one tapestry over the timber, hopped over, and tossed the second to create a path to the door. Fresh air mingled with cloying smoke, but the heat was like walking through a forge. Miram pulled back in terror, barely held in place by Nesiara. Raviathan picked Miram up, his arms clamped tight around her to keep her from struggling, and jumped over the timber. Nesiara picked up her dress and followed. Fire roiled overhead. A great crack sounded as another timber split under the pressure of heat. Raviathan put Miram down, and the three ran. Another crash as the burning rafter collapsed behind them.

Blue sky. Clean air.

Two guards stared at the escaping elves in shock, their mouths open. A third punched one on the shoulder. "Don't just stare, you great lump. Them's the elves who'd started that fire."

Two more joined the three and charged. Maker, why? There was next to no way to keep the guards from surrounding him. Nesiara fumbled with the crossbow. Raviathan pulled his weapons. If he flanked and got around behind them, maybe he could keep them distracted so they wouldn't go after Nesiara and Miram. The two could run, get to safety. Ness wasn't going to leave though. Stubborn wife.

Raviathan dodged the first guard and sprinted around. He slashed at the back of the first guard's thigh, heard a satisfying cry of pain as his blade bit flesh. He kept the guards to his front, running backwards to keep them from flanking him. Blood poured from the guard's wound. The shem stumbled and put a hand to his head. Blood flowed like water from a broken vase. These men had taken the poison. Raviathan smiled. He shouldn't get cocky, but the odds had taken a definite turn in his favor.

He whipped his blades forward, shifting his retreat to a charge and taking the nearest guard by surprise. His steel didn't go through the guard's armor, but the bruise would continue to bleed internally. Raviathan retreated again. He brought his dagger up to defend against the guard who had been pressing against his left. Sidestepping so the left guard was blocking his fellows, Raviathan made two quick attacks before backing away again. He could do this. It would be a longer fight, but he could wear them down while the poison did the rest. Swipe and retreat. The first guard was down. Two bolts stuck out of his back. Only four.

Soris ran from the estate entrance. Raviathan's heart leapt. Soris's eyes were wide with fear, but he was unhurt. The guards didn't see the crazed elf running up behind them. Soris hesitated, adrenaline making his movements jerky as he tried to figure out where to hit. Finally, he poked a guard in the back with his sword. The guard cried out and spun. Soris ducked behind his shield, instinct guiding him. Raviathan took out one of the distracted guards and broke the knee of another. In another minute, the fight was over.

Raviathan sunk to his knees. He panted as fatigue made his limbs heavy. "Nice…work, cousin."

"You injured?" Soris looked as pale as bleached bone.

He shook his head. "Tired. Where are the rest?"

"Not far. Hiding. Waiting for us."

Nesiara wrapped her arms around him. "You're shaking."

"Reaction," Raviathan said. With her help, he hauled himself to his feet. "Let's go before more guards come."

Smoke stained the sky in a long, black smudge.


	16. Married Life – Blood on the Vhenadahl

Raviathan and the others moved quickly through the alleys and back streets. Nesiara and Valora helped Shianni walk, her arms around their shoulders as she limped along with her head down. At every pain filled step she took, Raviathan regretted he hadn't saved the last elfroot potion for her.

Soris watched over the women as Raviathan took vanguard distracting guards and shems or rerouting their path as needed. He moved them as fast as he dared, his only thought to get back to the alienage. Valendrian would know what to do from there. Thankfully, there were no guards at the gates to the alienage. Word of the assault on the estate had probably not yet spread for the guards to organize against them, not with the fire.

"Come on," said Raviathan in a voice he didn't recognize. It was hard, stronger than he remembered. He was normally soft spoken, but now he sounded like Valendrian on a bad day. "The gates are clear. Let's go."

Catching up to him, Soris whispered as he glanced about, "What will we do, cousin? The house servants will surely tell the guards we're responsible." Most had run at the first hint of danger. Though the elven servants bore no love for Vaughan, it was only a matter of time before whispers spread or witnesses came forward. The city guard would come to the alienage. The real question was when. Would they have enough time to escape the city?

"Don't worry about it," Raviathan said, disturbed by the darkness in his own voice.

Soris glanced around again. "But…"

"Listen! The first thing is to get the women back." Lips pursed, he said quietly, "We'll probably have to leave Denerim. If the guards know we're solely responsible, it might spare the rest of the alienage from a purge. I don't know how far we'll get, but if it saves the others… We'll have to hurry though."

Soris paled at the thought. "Y-you mean… we'll be hunted?"

"Don't think about it," Raviathan whispered, hoping the others hadn't heard. They wouldn't be able to run for long, and the guards wouldn't be kind. Their lives were forfeit. All they could do now was minimize the damage for the others. The shouts from inside the alienage became clear once they neared the gates. Voices buzzed in a low, angry hum as if someone had thrown a stone at a wasp's nest. Most of the elves were gathered between the vhenadahl and stage. The festive decorations and lights appeared garish after all that had happened.

The vhenadahl, painted in unnatural red on white, burned Raviathan's eyes. The alienage flattened before him. Sounds warped, images distorted to swirls of color. Only the vhenadahl, the heart of the alienage, stood real and terrible. Shianni, pale legs with a splatter of blood.

Spying them, Valendrian hurried forward, Duncan following with long easy strides. "You've returned." A frown crossed Valendrian's stern face as he reviewed the party. "But where is Toulime's daughter, Nola?"

Though she had stayed strong for most of the journey, Valora's squeaky voice was full of tears when she piped up. "She… she didn't make it."

"They killed her," Raviathan said in that same strange voice that wasn't his.

"What happened?" Valendrian asked, the lines in his face deepening.

The women led Shianni to her home, trying to cover her from the angry crowd as best they could. Valendrian watched her limp away. Raviathan said, "Vaughan and his guards are dead. The guards…" He couldn't look at Valendrian. Shock and rage were still running their course making the world seem flat and unreal.

Soris added looking shamefaced at his hahren, "Rav thinks we should go before the city guards get here."

"Ugh," Valendrian sighed. "That it had come to this. I don't know what I can do for you."

"This might be the only way to keep from implicating the whole alienage," Raviathan said. "If so, it's better you don't help us. Say we did this against the will of everyone here. We had better hurry. The guards will start combing the city and gates, but there might be a way for us to get out by the docks." He unfastened the borrowed long sword and held it to Duncan. "Thank you for the use of the sword."

"Maybe you should ditch the armor too," Soris said taking off his chainmail shirt. "We'll blend in better if you don't have it on."

Duncan had opened his mouth to say something, but the four turned at the sound of marching and clink of armor. Raviathan's heart pounded. For the second time this day, shems invaded his home. Resolution settled into Raviathan's eyes as he turned towards the oncoming guards with his shoulders squared and chin lifted defiantly. "Run, Soris," he said. "Hide in one of the buildings." The other elf hesitated, looking at his cousin, but at Raviathan's hard glare, he ran into the crowd and disappeared.

The guard captain, a fit if older man with a white goatee, led a procession of official city guards. His gaze settled on Valendrian and Raviathan immediately. "Elder. We've respected your role here. Do not tarnish it by trying to hide the culprits, for there will be no tolerance this time. A swash of blood covers what remains of Arl of Denerim's estate. Who are the culprits?"

"I am," Raviathan said firmly before the guard could continue.

"Who else?"

"Just me." Raviathan's hard gaze met the captain's. He was still shaking in rage as he stepped forward.

The captain sneered down at him. "You expect me to believe that an entire estate's worth of guards and three trained lords were taken out by one elf?"

Valendrian placed a hand on Raviathan's shoulder before the young man could react in blind fury. He was calm as he addressed the guards who towered over them. "We are not all helpless. Captain."

One of the guards snorted, and Raviathan's steely gaze went to him. The captain recognized the look, how the elf's grip on the sword tightened for a moment. If the young elf resisted, they would kill him. It was as simple as that. The main problem would be the city's unstated need to see the elf hanged publicly, and tensions would flare for months if the people's need for blood was denied.

A hanging for a lone elf probably wouldn't be enough to satisfy the mobs that would form. He'd have to be tortured publicly, perhaps for weeks. Such acts had not been performed since the Orlesian occupation, and Ferelden was well to be rid of them, but this was a rather extraordinary case. Vaughan had a strong following, nobles and guards who saw him as a forceful leader, a promise that the city would prosper when he became Arl. A public torture of the elf might be the only way to save the alienage from a purge. Those city guards loyal to Vaughan and the Kendells family would not be kind if a purge was ordered.

There was no hope for the boy, but true as that was, cornered men fought the hardest. Whatever the elf had done, he wasn't a novice, and the captain was sure there would be more than one casualty on his side if this wasn't handled well. He faced the lad, understanding that the elf knew what was coming and had sacrificed himself. He looked at the beautiful face and could almost see the damage that would be done to it in the coming weeks. The torturers would break him in every way imaginable. Such a pity. He wished more of his guards had the kind of nerve this elf showed. "I commend you for your courage though I do not envy your fate. Surrender your weapons and come with us."

With a bitter sigh, Valendrian squeezed Raviathan's shoulder. "I'll see what I can do for your trial. Perhaps I can persuade Mother Boann to testify on your behalf."

The guard who had snorted smirked at the old elf. "You think he's going to get a trial? Even if he does get one, I doubt there'll be much left of that pretty face by the time it comes about."

"That's enough," the captain said glaring the guard down. Idiot. He was trying to avoid bloodshed. Last thing he needed was to panic the elf. The guards would react, the alienage would react, and then they would have no choice but an immediate purge.

"Ah, captain," Duncan said and all turned to him. "I am Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens."

The captain scowled at the unexpected interruption. "You would be Duncan then."

"Yes," the dark human replied. "I am invoking the Right of Conscription." Raviathan frowned in puzzlement, and Valendrian's breath caught in a mixture of hope and regret.

"The right…" the captain stammered, "you can't. He broke the law."

"That does not matter," Duncan said injecting more authority in his voice. "The Right of Conscription can be used in lieu of the gallows if necessary, and that is especially true during a blight."

The words 'a blight' rippled through the guards. The few elves still standing to watch the exchange gasped. Some ran off to spread word. One guard whispered loud enough for the rest to hear, "So it's true. It isn't just a large darkspawn raid."

There was a prayer, "Maker save the King."

The captain swore as thoughts of how the city would react floated through his head. The Warden-Commander may have just saved the elven boy, but he doomed the alienage. The outrage from the city would be immediate, enough that even though actions against the Grey Wardens were unthinkable during a blight, conscription might not be enough to ensure the boy's safety. He fixed Duncan with a look that he hoped conveyed the seriousness of the situation.

"Get him out of the city. Today. Sooner the better." The captain turned then to the guards. "Men. If any ask, you are to say the elves responsible were killed for resisting. Any rumors that get started won't be hard to trace back. The Grey have the King's favor, and any sedition during a blight will not be dealt with leniency." That was the best he could do for the Wardens, but he doubted the men would keep their silence without a demonstration this evening. Days like this made him count the months to his retirement. "Fall out."

The guards left with dark looks and a few grumblings, but they were trained well enough not to speak too loudly. Raviathan slumped, and Valendrian wrapped his arms around the young elf and pressed his face against the back of Raviathan's neck. "Oh my boy. You have no idea what they were going to do to you."

Raviathan had seen it in the city guards' faces. There was a hard hate that many shems had when they saw an elf, but this was beyond anything Raviathan had experienced. They had wanted to see him broken. Not just humiliated or hurt. Broken. Those were the same ugly looks the guards at the estate had when they laughed around Nola's still warm body. It was a final insult that she couldn't even scream as her body was exposed and violated. The young elf started shaking in what Duncan recognized as reaction now that the main crisis was over. A trembling hand rested on the hahren's arm, and Valendrian gave Raviathan a final squeeze before releasing him.

Caught between rage, fear, and distrust, Raviathan returned Duncan's sword without looking at him. "Hahren, once I'm out of the city, Ness and I will have to run. Can you tell her…"

"I'm sorry, Rav." Valendrian clasped a hand against Raviathan's neck. "You have to go with Duncan."

Raviathan's brows knit. He glanced at Duncan, bitter hate in his eyes, then turned back to Valendrian. "Hahren," he whispered. "I'm not going with that shem."

"You listen, young man. I trust Duncan with my life. And you will fulfill your obligation."

"Say your goodbyes, but be quick about it," Duncan replied. "We need to leave as soon as possible."

"But," stricken, Raviathan looked to his hahren, "Ness. I can't leave her."

"Rav," Valendrian said, "you have no choice."

"No. I can run. The guards won't know. She… Valendrian, please..."

"Stop!" Valendrian squeezed Raviathan's arms, his grip painful through the armor. The hahren had a sickly pallor, his age showing clear in the midday sun. "This is a blight. Blights destroy entire nations. We will all be killed if it isn't stopped. Your father, your cousins. Ness. Myself. Everyone in this alienage. Thousands of others. Rav, this is bigger than any of us. You have been chosen. We need you. All of us."

When Raviathan looked out over the crowd of faces, men and women who had been celebrating his marriage only hours ago, he saw rage and sorrow. News was spreading rapidly through the crowd, and the multitude of voices that had hushed in fear of the guards rose. A few left grumbling that there would be a purge for sure and the wise would leave immediately. Elva's shrill voice complained to any who would listen that the whole alienage had been compromised to save a few, a decision had damned them all. Some of the elves agreed, their grumblings added to the snatches of news and worries.

Salia, at whose wedding he had played music and danced, came up to hug him. She whispered, "Maker bless you, Rav. What you did, you did for all of us. Some of us will always remember that."

He sniffed and hugged her back. "Thank you. Take care of yourself."

Sorrow and rage. It was their day of celebration. He was married to a beautiful woman, one who was going to fill the rest of his days with love, family, and companionship as he would have done for her. The whole alienage, family and friends, neighbors and rivals, had set aside grievances to give them this one day that would be special. This was to be a holy day for them, one that would unite them for the rest of their lives. The crowd parted when he walked through the square. The fragility of their lives was revealed in one harsh blow. Any of them could be taken, and there was no defense. Only rage and sorrow.

He entered Alarith's store not sure if it would be for the last time. "Hey youngin'. So you're off then."

"Yeah." Raviathan swallowed. The shop was thankfully empty. "I'm going to be a Grey Warden." He looked about the shop as if seeing the familiar shelves and goods could steady his life. He had known when he took Duncan's sword that nothing would be the same. Had known that the minute the shems invaded the little corner of homeland his kind had in the city.

Alarith nodded slowly as if it had been inevitable. "They're lucky to have you."

Raviathan shrugged to lighten the mood, though sorrow remained in his eyes. "Better than working at the docks then. Glad you approve."

Alarith came around the counter and hugged him. It was an uncharacteristic display from the Tevinter elf, but then, they had almost been family once. "This place is going to be a lot quieter without you." Raviathan returned the hug resting his chin on Alarith's shoulder. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." Raviathan ended the hug. "Take care."

Alarith squeezed his shoulder. "You were always meant for better than this place."

Raviathan smiled sadly at his almost uncle. Almost family. He kissed Alarith's cheek then left the little shop and its familiar organized chaos and scents. The cold outside was hard as the bitter southern wind snaked through his clothes to bite his skin. All the elves were still in a buzz, crowding in the street. He started off for Shianni's apartment. It seemed harder to walk now as if he were wading through water. The whole alienage drifted in unreality.

"Rav?"

He looked down to see the face of a young boy who had been one of his first deliveries without Solyn. Even as an infant, the boy had jade green eyes that were far too old to be a child's. "Hey Justen." He knelt down to the boy's height. Everything seemed so distant and flatter somehow. Even the noise and movement from the square felt like it came from behind a bubble.

"Is it true what they're saying? Are you leaving?" Justen had always been a sincere child. He didn't try to hide his emotions, and the sorrow in his old eyes made Raviathan's throat ache.

"Yeah. I have to."

"Why?"

"Because the guards will take me away otherwise."

"But you didn't do anything wrong."

Raviathan kissed the boy on the head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just unfair, and there's nothing I can do about it." His long fingers stroked the Justen's fine brown hair. "If I can come back and visit, I will." They hugged and Raviathan kissed his temple in parting. Zacky was crying in a corner, and Justen left to hug him. Raviathan pressed his fingers to his lips then waved goodbye. Would it have been so hard to make time to play with them, give the orphans the attention they were starved for? No more.

No one stopped him as he made his way to the apartment building he had called home all his life. He heard angry yelling from across the square but paid it no mind. Shems had done horrible things here before, especially during a purge, but the blatant criminality of the Arl's actions would be remembered for decades. The elves were always divided on whether they should fight back or not. Some were grateful to his mother for defending the alienage, but others said she got what she deserved. Would he miss the rivalries and factions? He never thought he would, but now that his home was drawing away from him, he was clutching at memories he had taken for granted before.

The rough apartment building was colder than the street. The immense shadow cast by the alienage wall only lifted in the afternoon. He went into Shianni's apartment first. Valora and Nesiara were there. "How is she?"

Valora answered in her timid, squeaky voice, "She's calmer now. She'll be okay. Shianni's tough."

Raviathan nodded automatically. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off Nesiara since he entered the room. Valora quietly left looking between the two of them. The words of his father returned to him then. Would his wife be satisfied living wild among the Dalish? How could she be happy running as a fugitive? Nesiara was smudged and dirty from the fire and fighting, a smear of blood on her jaw. More blood on her dress. Gazing at her now, how could he ask her to live the rest of her days in hiding? She deserved better than that. Better than anything he had been able to offer her. "Ness," he began but his throat was closing.

She walked forward to hold him. "Soris overheard. A Grey Warden."

"Ness," he tried again. "I'm so sorry." His vision started to swim.

She whispered, "You saved me. You risked everything to save me."

"I love you." He closed his eyes to keep the tears from falling, but one leaked out anyway. "I can try and come back," he offered.

"Duncan told me that Grey Wardens can't have families."

As much as he didn't want to hear it, he had expected as much. He kissed her hair. This would be the last time he felt the silky softness of her hair against his lips. At least her willowy little body was still hers. That alone was worth giving her up. "I'm sorry, Ness." His chest tightened as he held her close. "I would have done anything for you."

"I know, my love." She sniffed then. He could feel the wet of her tears against his neck.

"I…" It felt like his heart was being crushed by a large fist. He couldn't breathe. "I want you to be happy, Ness. Will you do that for me?" His lips brushed her temple, and he caressed the fine skin of her jaw.

She buried her face in his chest. "Rav," she whispered.

He rubbed her back. "You were the best thing that happened to me in a long time, sweet Ness. I'll always treasure these days. You made me so happy." He leaned down and kissed her tears then lifted her face to look into her cornflower blue eyes. "You made me so very happy. I want you to stay safe and find your happiness. Do that for me, sweet Ness. Make that my wedding gift." It made her cry all the more, but she nodded unable to speak. He kissed her hand. It was rough with calluses and capable of creating beautiful things. How he loved her hands. "You're special, sweet Ness. Don't ever forget that."

He walked away from her towards the second room but stopped before he entered. "Rav," she said softly, "You're the best man I ever knew." There was a squeak of hinges, and the door closed behind him. Nesiara was gone. Duncan had saved him from a hanging, but at this moment it didn't seem like the man had done him much of a favor. She was gone.

The door stood before him with the unreality of a portal to another world. Shianni. The image of her face, crying in pain and humiliation, was more real than the door. Followed that was the image of the human pulling himself off. The line of his sick seed still trailing from her. The small splatter of blood on her upper thigh added to the bruises already forming on her legs. Bile rose in Raviathan's throat. It's ugly acid taste added to the nausea he already felt. He opened the door to see her sitting on her sleeping mat like a vacant and broken doll. He sat next to her. He wanted to touch her but was afraid.

"Cousin," he said. "I have to leave."

She pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I heard." She looked at his hand for a moment before taking it between hers. "You're off to do great things."

He leaned down and kissed her hand. She stiffened but did not stop him. "I'm sorry, cousin." The apology felt useless. He didn't even know why he bothered saying it. It changed nothing. Shianni had paid the price, and no apologies would take away what happened.

"I don't want anyone to know what happened," Shianni said with fresh steel in her voice. He looked at her then. The sweet grey brown eyes in her child's doll face had hardened. In a few days the bruise that covered half her cheek and jaw would be purple. He knew there were more from the way she walked, stiff and limping. She had said nothing. It was like she shut down a part of herself. "They just think Vaughan roughed me up a bit, and that's all they're going to know. Promise me."

"Cousin," he pleaded feeling shame wash through him like a black rain. He had felt rage and pain at the deaths of his mother and aunt, but not this clawing guilt. Unlike then, this was his fault. He had been overwhelmed by panic to get Shianni and Ness back, but now that she was here and torn, torn and never to be repaired, he felt the full force of his responsibility. He had failed her in the worst way possible. All the training he had gone through in his childhood was useless when he couldn't protect the ones he loved.

Her hand withdrew, and she wrapped her arms around her legs again. "They'll treat me differently. You know that. Elva will call me a whore. The boys will get ideas. I'll either get pitied or picked on." He wanted to hold her and let her tears come as they would have when they were children, but she had shut down. "I'll be fine."

What could he say? It wasn't right to keep this a secret, but he didn't know what else to do for her. "Alright. If that's what you want, I won't tell anyone."

She sniffed and looked at him for the first time. "You promise?"

"Yes Shianni. I promise."

She looked back down. "I love you, cousin."

He had never felt so small and helpless. "I love you too." He left her on the mat. There was nothing he could do for her. No words. If only he were wiser maybe then he could find some way to comfort her, say the right thing to make her feel less alone, less hurt. His feet felt leadened as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.

Calls from the neighbors accosted him on the way. Some wanted to know what happened or what was going to happen. He ignored them all. These people he had known from childhood. He had made poultices for them or watched their children while they went on some errand. Some had watched him as a child and told him stories or sang lullabies. Nearly every day for eighteen years he had seen their faces and traded gossip or jokes. What would it be like without them?

Soris and his father were in the apartment. His father hurried over to give him a hug. "Oh, son."

"I'm alright, father," he said grateful for his father's wiry strength. "At least this way I'm alive."

A sob escaped the old elf. His grip tightened for a long minute before he let go. "You did the right thing. Your mother… she'd be so proud of you."

Raviathan almost cried when he heard that. He held back the tears with an effort, but his voice was strained. "You think so, father?"

A wide smile cracked the old elf's face as tears welled in his eyes. "I'm sure of it. Being a Grey Warden. I know she thought about that life more than once, but she loved you with all her heart. She thought about it, but she never regretted staying. I think she'd be proud that you'll do something she wanted as well." The tears swam in his blue eyes but didn't fall. "Go and pack up."

"Yes, father." Raviathan gave Soris a look to follow and the two went up the ladder to the upper floor. Raviathan took the oldest pillow case and started adding his few belongings. There wasn't much to pack: his clothes, a comb, sewing kit, an unused wrapped bar of soap, his little leather pouch of lock picks that was hidden under the false bottom of his chest. The lute, fiddle, and pipes would stay. A pouch of coins, some precious stones and jewelry, brandy, and odds and ends he had pilfered at the estate went into the sack as well.

While he packed, Soris said, "You took all the blame. You're amazing cousin, you know that?"

A small sad smile eased Raviathan's lips. "It was nothing."

Soris sat on the bunk bed. "You always were my hero. Now you're an official hero."

"You were there too, Soris."

"What did I do? I was never as brave as you."

He gave Soris a wide silverite bracelet with moonstones set in an ornate filigree. "For Valora. You've got a proper wedding gift for her now."

Soris took the bracelet, turning it over and over. "I didn't earn this."

"Yes you did. Don't let anyone tell you different." Raviathan's chest jerked in a sob. He piled all the coins from the three purses he had taken from the nobles into one and put that in the chest for his family to find. In an empty purse he put the best piece of jewelry he found, a gold necklace with three rubies. "Give this to Ness. Please."

"Sure, cousin." Soris said in a strained voice. "You're going to miss her."

Raviathan lay on the floor to grab the strap of his healer's bag and dragged it out from under the bed. That at least was something he wouldn't have to worry about hiding anymore. "I'm going to miss all of you."

"I know, but you were happy for the first time in years."

Raviathan shrugged. It didn't matter anymore. She was gone. "Soris, following me today, it was brave. My mother trained me, so I knew what I was doing. All you had was a sword you've never held before. I know you don't feel like you're that kind of person, but when you don't think about it, when you just act, you are." He tied the pillow closed with a bit of rope and tied that so it rested on top of his herbalist kit. He could have taken something small like his pan pipes, but the thought of music repelled him.

He looked up at his ornament and hesitated. It belonged to Nesiara now, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing it. I'm stealing from her, he thought. He took it carefully from the tack. The little crystals clinked in a colorful dance. Raviathan held his breath and forced the tears away. It was too delicate to take with him. Instead he stored it under the false bottom of his chest. "Promise you won't tell."

"I promise, cousin."

Finished, Raviathan hopped down the hole to the bottom floor, and Soris handed him his small collection of things.

Nessa had entered the room while he had packed. "Rav. I don't think I can ever repay you for saving us."

He smiled and gave her a hug and kiss goodbye. "Take care of my father, huh? Make sure he eats and all."

Cyrion held his son affectionately by his neck. Raviathan wondered if this would be the last time he felt his father's rough, cold hand. "I'm supposed to say that to you."

The two men stood with their foreheads touching in a moment of silent comfort. Raviathan wondered at his father's strength. Years ago, after his wife was killed, Cyrion had developed a peace that made him able to endure the stings of life with quiet calm. Raviathan had been bothered by it, thought his father too passive. In that moment, Raviathan felt his father's calm and knew it for the strength it was. He would mourn, but he would endure. "Alright son. Be good, and wise, and strong."

"I will, father."

At the bottom floor, Raviathan heard a woman crying from Drioni and Eolas' apartment. "There now, dearie," Eolas's voice was muffled through the door. "We've both lost husbands. It hurts like nothing else. Deep down, and it hurts. Go ahead and cry."

He touched the door, his heart squeezing tight. She was gone. Soris wrapped his arms around Raviathan, rested his face in Raviathan's hair. The tears came try as he might to hold them back. His wife was gone.

"I'm sorry, cousin. I know you loved her."

Raviathan wiped his face and the two left the apartment building together. The square was no less full. Raviathan waved goodbye to the children who had gathered near the orphanage and alleys. They stayed out of the adults' way but had come to see Raviathan leave. All the children waved goodbye. A few cried. "They'll miss you too, cousin."

I'll miss them, Raviathan thought. "Soris, be good to Valora."

The pale elf nodded. "She's a good woman. Has ideas for changing this place for the better. It won't be so bad."

Raviathan grinned. "Better than gargoyles."

"That's right," Soris said smiling with the bittersweet resign they usually saw in adults. "Doesn't this remind you of when we tried to run away to find the Dalish?"

Raviathan's laugh sounded more like a sob. "Yeah. All I need is a frying pan and a fish for my weapons."

"Darkspawn beware!" Soris said clapping a hand on Raviathan's back.

Duncan and Valendrian were waiting, the two in quiet discussion by the gates. As they approached Duncan asked, "Are you ready?"

"Almost." He gave Soris a final hug goodbye, and they kissed on the cheek. "Take care, cousin." He turned to Valendrian who ran his fingers paternally through Raviathan's hair. He gave his hahren a melancholy smile. "There'll be less trouble around here now that I'm going."

Raviathan looked at his hahren with new eyes. Valendrian's crinkled skin was like fine, old porcelain. His white hair gleamed in the shadows of the alienage. Despite his age, the old elf's deep voice carried with a resounding authority. Raviathan had always respected him, but now saw just how sagacious the elf was. He had held the elves together for decades and guided them through crisis after crisis. Raviathan was going to miss his council, his quiet wisdom and absolute integrity. All Valendrian's life had been dedicated to serving his people.

Valendrian pulled him in a hug and they rested their foreheads against each other for a moment. "You were always meant for better things, Rav. Take care, my boy."

Unable to speak, Raviathan kissed him goodbye. Without looking back, he left with Duncan out of the gates and away from his home.

* * *

_AN: First and foremost, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Guests, if I could PM you to tell you that your reviews were appreciated, I would. Special thanks to Artemis7337 and Badculture._

_Super special thanks with a cherry on top to Oleander's One. Your reviews made my day each and every time. So many kudos and brownie points for you. For anyone else who reads this, check out her story, "Intemperance". I envy her ability to write witty, intelligent, character driven dialogue and the complexity of her story._

_Also need to send love and thanks to my beta, ItsADrizzit, for carefully and painstakingly explaining exactly why my story sucked and helping to make it better. I know you'll probably be annoyed that I used three adverbs, so I have to add thanks for tolerating me when I'm a needy, whining, insecure nerd. Thank you for being critical and funny, and for all the excellent conversations we've had about writing and life. And weird Scandinavians._


	17. Strange Bedfellows – Days Gone Past

Duncan walked in silence down the Imperial Highway with the elf by his side. So far, Raviathan had remained quiet. That was to be expected after all that had happened, but it was a marked difference from the impassioned man Duncan had met earlier that day. Wrath had poured out of the elf when he realized what had happened while he had lain unconscious. He was still visibly shaking with it when he returned with five of the six women in tow.

To be honest, Duncan was surprised that the elf had been successful in taking out the entire estate's guards by himself without a scratch. Soris was obviously no warrior, and this one had been showered in blood. Arl Kendells had probably taken most of his guard with him to Ostagar leaving only those too infirm for the journey, too old, or green recruits. Already Denerim had grown rougher since the march south.

Did the boy truly realize what was in store for him when he sacrificed himself? While he was not going to be cowed by the idea of torture or death, and hate could keep a man sane during torture, Duncan wondered how well he would have fared under that sort of treatment. He had seen men's bodies broken from torture, driven mad by pain. A rampaging elf would have garnered even greater punishment from his torturers. The anger of the citizens would demand that the elf was broken before a public execution, and as much as Duncan admired the elf's ability thus far, he doubted Raviathan could hold out for what could turn into months of ruthless torture.

While conscripting Raviathan saved the boy's life from mob justice, the problems didn't end there. How long could he hide the boy from Kendells? He'd have to come up with some plan to keep Raviathan safe from retribution. Not even the King's favor would be enough to safeguard the elf from Kendell's vengeance once word got out. Though Kendells might not openly move against the Wardens, all manner of accidents happened on a battlefield. Justice and vengeance were ever fickle twins.

After the events of the day, Duncan was getting used to the elf watching him with measured hostility. They had been on the road for hours, and he was still getting that glare. At least his newest recruit was no longer antagonistic. There was so much of his mother in him, and Duncan's thoughts turned to Adaia. Duncan had liked the fiery woman and wished he had the chance to say goodbye, but there were many others like her, warriors or rogues like himself, who had fallen for one reason or another. At least he had been able to provide her son some measure of help, for whatever that was worth.

The elf had taken less than an hour to say goodbye to everyone he knew and had walked back out with a small pillow sack tied with a length of rope and a hard leather case. Duncan wondered about the case but didn't ask. Raviathan seemed closed and needing quiet. Duncan would wait until the elf was ready. The studded leather vestment and skirt the elf had found at the estate fit him poorly as it was designed for a human, but it was probably the only armor the elf had ever worn. They would have to do something about his woefully inadequate equipment at Dragon's Peak. It was getting late. The sun hung low in the sky, red bleeding into the hazy winter gloom. There was a small inn for travelers they should be able to make just after sunset.

Duncan pulled his cloak tighter around him against the Ferelden winter. Although the season had been unusually dry and mild, at least according to Ferelden's brutal standards, the cold wind was making his bones ache. Most likely this winter would be his last. There was some time yet, a few months, for him to prepare Allonese to take over as Warden-Commander. The man was calm and thoughtful. He might not have the authority to command contingents as large as Orlais or the Free Marches, but Ferelden's score of Wardens would not be a problem.

They all respected Allonese, even Tarimel who was disposed to detest all humans and Greigor who preferred to follow strength. That was the past, Duncan reminded himself. Greigor had come a long way in the last ten years. He was much calmer now and had started taking on a slow but thoughtful wisdom. Ten years ago Alistair would have been borne the brunt of hazing or have been bullied about, but Greigor had mellowed and treated the boy with the affection he would bestow a young brother. Duncan would talk with Allonese about it, but he thought Greigor would make a decent Warden-Commander when Allonese needed to take the Calling.

Now that the Calling was coming, Duncan had taken to reflection more. He had seen many fine men and women take the Calling before him and those who were not so fine. The events of his life had humbled his angry youth and made this just another step on his path to the Maker. Not that he was overly religious, but he had done a lot of good with the time he had. Perhaps being a Grey Warden and witnessing firsthand what the taint would eventually do, the choices they had to make, had instilled the inevitability of his fate and given his life more meaning. It wouldn't be long, but he could be proud of his life and face what is to come. He hoped the Blight would be ended quickly so he could go to the Maker knowing that peace, but if nothing else, Ferelden was warned. The Grey Wardens had seen humanity through before, and they would again and again as long as there were Grey Wardens.

Lately he had wondered about Fiona. Was she still alive? Supposedly she would be the first Grey Warden who wouldn't have to take the Calling when she reached the critical age for the taint. The feisty elf might have a few choice words for him if she didn't blast him out right. Despite the years Duncan didn't think her temper would have dulled with age. He had promised the elf he would look after her son, but once the boy had been sent to the abbey, there was no way for Duncan to check up on him. The poor child had been looked after, better than most bastard children would have been, but it grieved Duncan to see him torn between loneliness and rage for his lot without a family's comfort. Though he himself had spent many a hard year living in the streets in Val Royeaux in his youth, he at least had known the love and comfort of a family as a child. The loss of his parents was more painful for the love he had known, but it had also given him a solid foundation that had served him well the rest of his life, short as it may be.

Those early years when the Wardens were reestablishing in Ferelden had been tricky indeed. The Warden-Commander Weisshaupt had sent had been a sturdy man, organized and an intelligent communicator. For all the Commander's persuasive powers, Loghain had never done more than glower their way. It had been enough that they had maintained the Order's presence when Maric was lost at sea. Cailan wasn't at an age when he could oppose Loghain like he did today, and that man's diplomacy in their early years had made the difference.

That thought brought another that was far more troubling. Cailan was finally stepping into his role as king, but he was not near the king Maric had been. The Wardens needed his assistance to defeat the Blight, and that was their duty above all else. If they needed to burn down villages, use treachery or treason, conscript lords and ladies or criminals, perform regicide, or use a king's well intentioned but ill forged idealism, that was what they did. That had been a bitter lesson in his youth. As a killer, Duncan had been tasked to perform such if it kept the Warden's secrets and helped them in their task. He didn't owe Cailan any loyalty; however, the use of the king's fanciful ideals bothered Duncan. With the Blight coming Ferelden could ill afford a foolish regent. Anora may be the real ruler, but Cailan was the figurehead that kept the nation focused. The rest of the Wardens who Duncan had chosen to deal with Cailan liked him well enough to hide their mild contempt. They knew what was at stake.

The sun was down leaving only shadows in the darkening indigo light. As old wounds ached in the cold, Duncan was less and less willing to camp when he had an option for a soft bed. There would be enough cold tents in the coming weeks. The inn was care worn but sturdy and was able to stay clean enough that it avoided some of the nastier types that could hole up in a place so far from a proper city. As dusk was settling, many field hands and general workers would congregate in a place like this for music and food, especially if they had yet to take a wife. It might be a little rough, but it would also be a good test of Raviathan in an unfamiliar setting.

The elf by his side was looking about wide eyed as any country boy in a city. He stayed close, almost like a second shadow as he looked about. As Duncan had guessed, the inn was full of farm hands and a few young women who were trying to catch a future husband's eye. There was a small stage in the main room and a minstrel setting up with a lute. The bartender was a balding, potbellied man of middle years. His nose was red with broken capillaries and he needed a shave to keep from looking like a bandit. Duncan said, "We need a room."

"We got a room left in the back. One bed," the bartender croaked in a whisky roughened voice. "Rest is full."

"Is it clean?"

The bartender eyed him blearily. "Clean as you'll get around here."

"Alright, we'll take a look."

The bartender harrumphed and handed Duncan a key and lamp. "Up the stairs, down the hall, last one on the right." He glowered at Raviathan. "Take care your servant doesn't steal anything."

Raviathan crossed his arms and looked down but held his tongue. Duncan glared at the man and put an arm around the elf's shoulders. "Don't let him get to you, Rav."

The elf nodded but kept silent.

The interior hall was dark. Sounds of shuffling feet or low conversation from the other rooms indicated thin walls. Once inside their room Duncan set down the lamp and looked about. There was a small cabinet next to a wash basin by the door and a chest with a key in the lock. A double bed dominated the middle of the room with a small frosted window on the opposite end. "Well, the bed is big enough to share."

Duncan looked over to see the elf glare at him. "Share," Raviathan said slowly with clear disgust.

The elf's tone caught him by surprise. The room was modest but clean. Considering the alienage, this had to be a step up if not several.

"That is, unless you prefer to sleep on the floor," Duncan said confused by the elf's reaction. Raviathan flicked his eyes up and down pulling away slightly as if Duncan was dirty. It took Duncan a moment to understand the elf's resurging hostility. Duncan winced as his own irritation surfaced. To even think it. "What do you take me for, lad?"

"Share a bed? I don't even know you!" Raviathan shot back.

Duncan frowned at the unexpected retort. "Then sleep on the floor. It makes no difference to me."

The elf muttered under his breath as he snatched a pillow and top cover for a makeshift bed under the window. "Shems. Are we all just whores to you?"

In that instant Duncan forgot the trials the elf had already faced that day. "Now see here! I have no intentions of having sex with you. Ever." He didn't mind men who preferred the company of other men, but he wasn't one of them. What bothered him was the elf's casual assumptions that he was a lecher, as if that were his reason for recruiting the boy.

"No," the elf returned angrily, "just sleep with me."

"Yes, sleep. And only sleep. What's wrong with that?" asked Duncan. Raviathan looked at him scandalized. Duncan sighed, reigned in his own anger, and reminded himself of the day's events. "Rav, I've conscripted you to be a Grey Warden. Not because I need a pet or bed warmer."

"Then why ask me to share the bed," he said, not bothering to hide the accusation.

"Because there is only one room available, and I thought you'd prefer that to a cold, hard floor. But have it your own way."

The elf glowered at him. "Why by Andraste's ass would you think I'd prefer to share a bed?"

Duncan had had enough. He may be getting old but surely he wasn't so repulsive that the sharing of a large bed for sleep was treated with such disgust. He set down his pack not bothering to put anything away. "I'm going downstairs for dinner. You are welcome to join me if that doesn't offend your sensibilities."

The elf harrumphed but followed him out the door. Duncan sighed. He had hoped Raviathan wouldn't have Tarimel's standoffishness, but that didn't look like it was to be the case. They both had just reasons for their anger, but it made integration with the Grey Wardens difficult, and he did try to foster an inclusive attitude. Of course Raviathan could still be reacting from what happened earlier. He was young enough that maybe some time and new experiences would be able to change his opinions.

The main room was packed by the time they returned. The minstrel had started playing the lute and singing at the far end. Some of the tables and chairs had been pushed back to make a dance space indicating that the minstrel was probably passing through and playing for his nightly board rather than a routine player. It crowded the already full room. The stink of body odor was strong combined with garlic and onions typical of peasants' meals. With the freezing winters, it was their first and main defense against illness.

Raviathan stayed close with his arms folded over his chest, slouched, and looking about with quick nervous glares. Duncan found a table at the far end away from the minstrel. Not trusting the maids for service, Duncan left to the bar to pay for the room, order their meals and two pints of ale. Raviathan stayed hunched with his back to the wall and chair turned sideways making a barrier with the chair back. He looked suspiciously at the ale Duncan set before him and pointedly turned away. So he thinks I'm going to ply him with alcohol now? Duncan asked, "You don't like ale?"

Raviathan placed his heel on the chair seat and hugged his leg to him. If nothing else, Duncan was impressed with the lad's flexibility. "I prefer water." There was a less than subtle hint that the elf believed exactly what Duncan suspected.

Duncan ignored the insult and flicked his head towards the bar. "Be my guest."

Raviathan looked at him with those strange flashing eyes that gleamed in the low light as if lit from the inside. Most humans were unnerved by elven eyes, and though Duncan had become a little more accustomed to them, moments like this reminded him of just how unusual elves were. Elven eyes were strange colors, too bright, and the shine far too alien. Raviathan got up and left for the bar. Duncan watched as he had to repeatedly call for the bartender's attention. The bald man was ignoring him more than what would be reasonable for the crowded room. He and the elf exchanged a few words, then Raviathan returned with nothing and sat as he had before. Duncan sipped at his ale. "No water?"

Raviathan was watching the minstrel but answered without looking. "There's a well out back he said."

That was rude, thought Duncan. Any inn would have some water ready for weary travelers. "He didn't give you a glass at least?"

Raviathan shrugged. "When you've finished your ale, I'll take that one."

Duncan said, "Take your glass. Pour the ale on the ground if you wish."

That did earn him a look. "Waste the ale?"

"You're not going to drink it," said Duncan.

"But," the elf sputtered, "that's wasteful. If you don't want it at least give it to somebody."

Duncan smiled as he leaned back to watch the minstrel and few dancers. The lad was frustrating at times, but he couldn't help but like him. Thick rabbit stew and dark bread was brought along with a bowl of mashed turnips and salad of roasted fall vegetables. Raviathan's eyes widened at the banquet before him, but Duncan started without preamble. Picking hesitantly at the food, Raviathan said almost too quietly for Duncan to hear over the crowd, "Thank you."

"I don't stand on ceremony. Take what you want," Duncan replied. The elf ate with small bites as his eyes darted about the room. He was certainly a study in contrasts. "Is everything alright?"

Raviathan bit his lips. "I'm not used to being around so many humans. I keep feeling like I'm going to be stepped on."

Duncan's white teeth flashed all the brighter for his dark skin. When he finished his ale, he handed the glass over to Raviathan who left without a word exchanged. Duncan watched as the lad darted between the press of people without them taking notice. The minstrel started a ballad of a lady mourning her lost lover at the Battle of West Hill during the occupation of Orlais. Duncan sighed as he thought about all the potential recruits he lost during this trip. The journey almost wasn't worth it as only three were awaiting the Joining. Of those, who would survive? Had Aedan survived the sack of Highever? Duncan regretted now that he had not pressed Ser Gilmore into service. He had left the determined man to defend the castle though they both knew it was helpless. Try as he might, he couldn't find Aedan anywhere in the castle, only the bodies of the rest of the family. Both of the ladies at the castle had been violated. Though he did not know them well, he was sure one was the wife of Bryce's son, Fergus. Such brutality happened when soldiers were filled with battle lust. It was a damn pity, but it also raised troubling questions about Howe. He was a sycophant if ever Duncan met one, but he had to be working with the protection of another, more powerful lord backing his treachery.

At the end of the song, Duncan turned to look for the elf, who had been gone more than long enough to fetch his water. To his surprise Raviathan had been backed against a wall by a large, heavy man with the ruddy face of someone who was too often in his cups. Duncan started to get up to intercede when he noticed Raviathan's down cast eyes look up hopefully at the human then fill with regret as he glanced at Duncan. Was the elf planning on getting rid of him? If so, that was a mistake, the old warrior thought coldly. Duncan had been expecting something along these lines though. The boy was bound to make at least one or two escape attempts before he learned better. The other man looked at Duncan, measuring, then said something further to the elf who gifted the drunkard with a demure smile then rubbed the man's bicep looking coquettish. The man glared at Duncan for a minute then left for the bar. The elf returned to the table and sat as if nothing had happened. Duncan also returned to his chair eyeing the elf. "What was that about?" he demanded.

Raviathan shrugged with one shoulder as he went back to his dinner. "We're leaving tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. I told him a violent swordsman, that's you, had already paid for me for the full night, but tomorrow he could have me at half price because he was so strong and handsome."

Duncan blinked in surprise. "You did what?"

Raviathan looked up with those strange, large eyes as guileless as a child. He finished chewing and said, "He's drunk. Best way to deal with them is to agree. I didn't think you wanted me to slice him open right here in front of everyone, so I told him what he wanted to hear. By the way, he thinks we're staying in the room those men are," he said indicating two messenger soldiers with a flick of his eyebrow, "just in case he gets some bright ideas during the night."

Duncan thought the elf was telling the truth, but he was surprised considering the man's earlier aversion to humans. "Are you going to warn those soldiers?"

The elf looked at him askance. "They're going to be our alarm if that man does try anything. Why give that up? Besides, it's two against one, and they're soldiers. They can handle it."

It was a bit of trickery that Duncan would have used in his early Warden days or when he was a street thief had he the wit if a man propositioned him. Maybe that's why he liked the elf. Catching Duncan's smile of approval, the elf grinned back with a embarrassed duck of his head, and then Duncan was certain the elf had not lied to him. "I'm surprised you're not more bothered by such attention."

The elf shrugged, and Duncan got the impression that Raviathan had issues with such, but now was not the time to go into it.

The minstrel wasn't particularly talented, and the dancing was clumsy, but both acquitted themselves with enthusiasm. Watching rivalries and plays for attention between the people gathered for the evening interested Duncan more. Though most dismissed Duncan as another traveling swordsman, Raviathan got a wide array of looks ranging from condescending to disgusted to downright lustful. The elf had barricaded himself on three sides with the table, wall, and chair back and drew up his knees once he was finished with his meal. Had he been alone, this place would have been dangerous for him. The vulnerability he was unconsciously projecting would hopefully diminish as Raviathan became more accustomed to humans, otherwise it was going to cause the elf no end of difficulties.

"Perhaps we should retire," Duncan suggested over the din of voices, heavy dance steps, and music. The elf frowned but followed him back to their room.

Once inside the room it was quiet enough to talk, though the playing of the minstrel and thumps of heavy feet sounded dully through the walls. Raviathan asked, "Bit early isn't it?"

Again that presumption. Duncan sighed as he removed his armor ready to shed the extra weight. The Ferelden cold seeped through the walls making everything cold to the touch. The washbasin had a thin layer of ice just starting along the edge of the porcelain sides. The bed was stone cold. "You were not oblivious to the looks you were receiving, I'm sure. I thought it best to get you out of there before some alcohol induced ideas got into too many heads."

"I can take care of myself," the elf retorted, his enmity renewed.

"I'm sure you can, but perhaps I don't feel like being your pretend customer having to defend my purchase."

Raviathan looked like he had been slapped. "Don't talk to me like that!"

Oh for love of the Maker. "Rav," he said sternly. "It's been a long day. We both need some sleep, and I for one would appreciate it if you didn't treat me as some sick lecher. I've been tolerant of that so far because of what you've been through, but enough. It's ungracious and unworthy of you, and I'll have no more of it."

The hostility drained out as Raviathan's forehead furrowed, and he looked down. His shoulders hunched as his hands crossed over his stomach. He looked lost and vulnerable again. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I've never been treated so well by a human before. I keep waiting for you to turn into a monster."

"I know things have tough for you at the alienage, but we humans are not all such callous villains."

Finished with most of his armor, he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his leg guards. Only the faintest shift told him that Raviathan was sitting on the bed with him. Finished, he looked over to see the elf sitting at the foot of the bed, bent down, his head in his hands. "Rav?"

"I keep thinking about what happened. I keep seeing it. Over and over. Those guards. Some of them must have had families."

Duncan sat with his forearms resting on his thighs as he regarded the elf. "Some of them probably did."

"I've never killed anyone before," he confessed in the still room. "What I did… I don't understand half of it."

Duncan rubbed his forehead as he reminded himself of what Valendrian had said about the boy. The venerable elf had wanted the boy to take over as hahren when he stepped down, that even as a child Raviathan showed unusual compassion and sensitivity. He had been a thoughtful child, watchful and curious even with all the troublemaking. It was never easy to kill a man, even when it was deserved. Some were more difficult than others, but the first time was always a marker in life. Ser Guy's death was the murder that had changed the course of Duncan's life.

Shifting to sit next to the elf, Duncan put a hand on Raviathan's shoulder as he composed what he would say. To his complete surprise Raviathan curled into his chest and started to sob. Duncan stared down in startelment. A deceptively delicate hand reached up to clench his tunic as the young elf cried against him. Raviathan wasn't loud, but his body shook with the totality of his grief. Duncan blinked, alarmed by the display. He took in a long steadying breath as the elf continued to weep.

Now that he looked at it, Raviathan had been using the anger to keep away the pain. It would have been obvious if only he hadn't been distracted with other concerns. The boy isn't made of stone, thought Duncan. Raviathan's grief was actually quite heart wrenching, and Duncan chided himself for not recognizing it earlier. Why did he expect so much more from this boy than he would most any other man? Raviathan curled in tighter, and Duncan held him firmly as the sobs continued.

Raviathan was young, had to give up his new wife who he had apparently loved despite their short time together, and had killed for the first time only just that morning. The elf didn't just kill a man, he had taken out all the guards and three lords at the estate nearly by himself. His resolve had been startling. At the elf's age, Duncan had been much wilder and struggled with his new life as a Grey Warden. So far the elf had accepted his new lot with far more grace than Duncan had, than most recruits who were forcibly conscripted for that matter. The boy's just lost everything he's known and is out in a world he's never seen. Tears were easy to allow.

The intermittent thumping of dancers and music from the main room was the only sign of passing time. Duncan ruminated over the Wardens. He would not live to see this blight ended. His thoughts traveled to Alistair, and he worried for the young man. Duncan hoped that the other Wardens would see their newest member through when Duncan either died on the field or took the Calling. Alistair's need for acceptance was painful to watch, but he was a good lad. Duncan couldn't help but allow his repressed paternal instincts take root in Alistair's case.

Too few Grey Wardens. Duncan should have been more aggressive in recruiting in the last twenty years as

Ferelden was in dire need of Wardens now, but the sacrifice had always been a difficult one. Though Loghain's distrust of the Wardens made for an easy excuse, the sacrifice demanded of the Grey was what truly weighed on Duncan's shoulders. Until Vaughan had made that choice for him, he wasn't sure he would have been able to take Raviathan from the life the young man had so clearly wanted.

Duncan looked down realizing that the lad had actually stopped crying some time ago but was resting against his chest. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed. Duncan squeezed his shoulder and the elf slowly sat up. Raviathan flexed his neck and back with a wince. He said quietly, "Thank you," then got up to wash his face in the little half frozen basin.

"Killing is never an easy thing," Duncan started, "especially your first. It's normal to grieve even if it was the right thing to do or you had no choice. It just shows you have a heart. Be patient with yourself, Rav. It's going to take time before you'll be at peace with what happened, and that's normal. But I want you to consider something. If given the choice again, to stay in the alienage or go after Vaughan, would you still have done what you did?"

Raviathan kept his head down, his eyes rimmed in red. "Yes."

"You made a choice to save your kin who did not choose violence and had no options. They would have been brutalized and more would have died if you hadn't interceded. Those guards chose to be guards knowing it could mean their life one day." Duncan stood to put a hand on Raviathan's shoulder. "We all make choices for good or ill. In this case, remember who the true innocents were, who the tyrant was, and who protected who."

It would take time for the realization to settle, but the cry had seemed to do Raviathan some good. For the first time he saw respect and trust reflected in those strange, bright eyes. Raviathan said quietly, "Thank you, Duncan."

He gripped the elf's shoulder and nodded. "Anytime you want to talk about it." With a cock of an eyebrow Duncan said, "Let's get some sleep, shall we? Things always feel worse when you're tired."

Raviathan gave him a small half smile and settled down to roll up in the blanket on the floor. Duncan sent a prayer that the boy would survive the Joining. Only three recruits, and the archdemon was coming. Duncan's feet were numb, which the cold bed did nothing to alleviate. The two thin blankets were little more than a suggestion against the cold.

So many had been lost. So much potential: Aedan's courage and strength, Duran's military experience and tactical mind, the untapped potential Irving had written about his favorite pupil, Neria. Now he had an overly honor bound knight, a quick street thief, and an angry elf. Duncan tried to double wrap his feet in the blankets and rubbed them together for a little warmth. Raviathan seemed a bit too fragile under the anger, but they would know for sure in a week's time. Sleep came despite the cold, and with it the taint induced dreams.


	18. Strange Bedfellows – Trust

The elf was a little more talkative the next day. Perhaps inquisitive was a better word considering the barrage of questions he asked since they started on the road. "Am I the only recruit you have?"

"No," Duncan replied. "There are two others who will be at Ostagar by the time we arrive. Jory and Daveth." Waking up twice from a combination of cold and taint induced nightmares, Duncan had added an extra layer of socks as well as his bedroll to the inn's meager blankets but still woke up frozen numb. The elf, by all appearances, was in no better condition. He'd been curled in a ball, shivering when Duncan woke him. A simple breakfast huddled in front of the main room's fire had helped take the edge off, but Duncan was still stiff.

"How did you recruit them?"

"Jory was in a tournament in Highever. He is skilled with two-handed weapons. Quite eager to join." Duncan wasn't about to tell Raviathan his misgivings. Though Jory had shown skill, Duncan feared his desire to join stemmed from a belief that the Grey Wardens were simply a heroic order of knights. Duncan had seen that often, men who joined out of a sense of pride but who did not comprehend the enormity of the sacrifice being one of the Grey demanded. While that was not a prerequisite, it could lead to disillusionment later. It had with Genevieve. But with a blight on the way, Duncan felt he had no excuse for excluding the man. "Daveth was a street thief."

The elf seemed to take the news of a street thief in stride. "So Jory was recruited before Howe sacked Highever?" There was a tone to his voice, just the slightest undercurrent of anger, that made Duncan wonder what connections he might have to the Arl. He was surprised the elf knew about it. Most of his kind couldn't care less about human politics, but then Howe was known to dislike elves. Maybe they only kept track of the humans most likely to cause them trouble. That hadn't been Duncan's experience though. Most were dismissive of any lord or the goings on of humans. Tarimel certainly was. It seemed like Raviathan would eventually be a little more open than the other elf. Tarimel, while he was a fine fighter, was more reclusive and bitter which kept him separate from his brothers. Though Raviathan certainly had just cause for some bitterness, he also seemed more open to change.

"He was the first during this recruiting session," Duncan said. "There were two others I had my eye on, but they were off visiting another holding. I returned later to test the knight, but I'm not sure what happened to him in the chaos. The last I saw, he was defending the main hall." They both had known how futile that had been, but it was Gilmore's last action to save as many as he could. "My first choice was the second son of the Cousland family, Aedan, but his father was against it. Unfortunately, I think he fell that night. I only just managed to escape."

"Howe would have attacked a Grey Warden? I thought you were neutral, above such politics."

"Don't ask mobs or despots for reason." The elf conceded the point with a nod. Duncan could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered the issue. "I am surprised you know about Highever."

The elf crossed his arms and looked down. He answered quietly. "Ness was from Highever. She and her family just got out before there was a purge on the alienage."

So, thought Duncan, his wife is a sore spot after all. Duncan recalled the elf's face as he danced with his wife looking as if the Maker's light shined for him alone. They had moved with the grace of an old couple who had danced those steps for decades. Duncan knew they had only been together for two months or so and was surprised to see how close they had become in that time. Adaia had been given a choice because there was no Blight. If not for Vaughan, Duncan wasn't sure he'd have been able to conscript the lad. "There were a few others I was looking for, a dwarven noble, but he died before I was able to recruit him. There was also a promising young woman there, but she did not make it I'm afraid."

"What happened?"

"She ran afoul of a criminal organization."

It was amazing how many of his potential recruits had died, Raviathan thought as looked up at his new commander again. It put his own recent escapade in a new light. Maybe the stuff that makes a Grey Warden also singles them out in other ways. "If there's a Blight on, why not have more?"

"Well, first off Grey Wardens only recruit the best."

The elf cocked his head at him. "You would consider me the best?"

Duncan's mellow voice, dignified with a touch of hoarseness that Raviathan liked listening to, continued, "You took out an entire estate's worth of guards and well trained lords. I would put that high on my list." The elf looked forward along the Imperial Highway as he pondered that. Duncan kept watching him. He was a curious one. "There have been other complications as well. I had my eye on about ten possible recruits, you being one of them."

The numbers seemed unreal. Out of ten, and he was the only one walking with Duncan now. How could so many have fallen? "How much did you know about me though?"

"That Adaia's son was about of age to be recruited. I was hoping you would be your mother's son. Seems I was proven right."

"But you said, 'the best'. You didn't know anything about me."

"I knew you were Adaia's son. That alone was worth looking for you."

Not satisfied with the answer, Raviathan shook his head but let the subject drop. "What about the Cousland son? You said you wanted him as well, and with the Right of Conscription, why bow to his father's wishes? You said the Blight comes over all other concerns."

"True," Duncan replied, "but the Right of Conscription is not without consequence. I'd rather have a family as powerful as the Couslands as an ally instead of having them cut me off from recruiting in the future. They had connections which could also cause difficulties with the other nobles."

After a moment the elf said quietly, "That's why you couldn't help me directly. It'd cut you off from the other nobles who would be angry that the Grey Wardens intervened."

"Quite right."

"You said Blights take decades if not a century to defeat. It's better to take a long range view than what you need immediately."

"Smart lad," Duncan said. Just as Valendrian had said, the elf was thoughtful and reflective. Once he got past his anger, he really was quite insightful.

"How long have you known King Cailan then?"

What had been pleasure at seeing the elf's insight turned to the beginning of alarm. Though the elf had asked the question with the same innocence as the rest, Raviathan was putting things together too quickly. "A number of years. Teyrn Loghain has been the regent for most of that time. Unfortunately, he takes a dim view of the Wardens."

"Why is that?"

"Did you know our Order was exiled?"

The elf looked up at him with interest. "What happened?"

Thankful that the distraction had worked for the moment, Duncan started, "Not everything is known about what happened, but it started with a political coup between the Lady Sophia Dryden and her brother, Arland, for the crown about two hundred and fifty years ago. Arland took the crown, and in lieu of execution, had Sophia made a Grey Warden. You see, Grey Wardens can't have families or titles. We inherit nothing and must relinquish any claims of property or title. But that doesn't mean our former lives are forgotten. Sophia still maintained contacts with many of the nobles and she was quite popular in the Order.

"When Arland turned out to be a tyrant, many of the nobles went to her for support in a rebellion. The Grey Wardens who did not agree with Sophia left Ferelden to join other factions. What was left, around two hundred Grey Wardens, were almost successful in their coup." Raviathan's eyes went wide as he calculated the numbers. "As you know, one of the edicts of our Order is to remain neutral, and this is why. Even if the land is governed by a tyrant, we risk too much if we involve ourselves. The darkspawn are our only concern. Because of Sophia, we were exiled for more than two hundred years until King Maric allowed our Order to return. That was just some twenty years ago."

Wind was gusting from the south, bringing a chill that penetrated through their clothes. "Why did King Maric allow us back in?"

The 'us' as part of the Order was not lost on Duncan. He wasn't sure if Raviathan truly meant that or if he was playing a part until he was close enough to the Brecillian Forest that he could attempt an escape. Considering the circumstances of Raviathan's conscription, Duncan expected more of a fight from the elf and didn't trust this easy acceptance. "I will tell you after you are officially joined to the Order."

Duncan could feel the elf's eyes on him again. It wasn't distrustful, but he could practically feel the elf's mind at work. Again, he was impressed with the elf's intelligence. After a few minutes, Raviathan asked, "How did you become a Grey Warden?"

The dark man did not speak at first. "That is perhaps a story best left to another time."

Raviathan noticed the human was watching him as much as he was watching the human. If Duncan didn't want to speak of his past, Raviathan wasn't going to push him, but he did find Duncan interesting. There was a story, more likely many, in the human, and he was a sucker for a good story. The training he received from his mother and aunt had made him patient if nothing else. He may not hear the story now, but once he learned more about Duncan, learned his behavior and mannerisms, he'd find out. One of the other Grey Wardens might know, which would take less time. In any case, he liked listening to Duncan so switched the topic. "What can you tell me about the history of the Grey Wardens?" A thought occurred to him. "Have there been many elven Grey Wardens?"

To his pleasant surprise, Duncan went on for hours recounting the story of Garahel, the elven Warden who had ended the Fourth Blight and drove back the darkspawn.

The story of Garahel had the effect Duncan had hoped for. One, it distracted the elf from more uncomfortable topics. Though he knew Raviathan had not forgotten the questions that went unanswered, perhaps this would satisfy his curiosity enough to let the others go for a time. Two, it helped him see that he would be valued as an elf, that his race had just as much history and rights in the Grey Wardens. Third, Duncan hoped to impress on him the importance of the Grey Wardens and how vital they were. If the elf understood his importance in the near future, he might be less likely to run away.

The hours passed easily enough, and the two became more companionable. The imposing mountain fortress that was Dragon's Peak was visible from miles away. Raviathan was awed by the fortress like city that perched like a raptor high on the black rock mountain. The mountain was reminiscent of an immense dragon head, from which it received its name. "Are we going to the city?"

Duncan looked up at the massive peak. "Not exactly. I'm hoping to find a vendor closer to the bottom for some basic equipment. There's an inn I want to make before night, and ascending the peak would take out more hours from the day than I'm willing to spend."

Raviathan was disappointed, but he got Duncan started on the Battle of Ayesleigh and that was interesting enough.

The vendors at the base were almost a village onto themselves and catered to travelers and farmers who didn't live in the shelter of the city. Though the Denerim Market carried much more exotic trade from various nations, this was the first time Raviathan had seen another town. A large circle of the dark grey stone of the mountain had been cut away to form a space for all the stalls. Tradetown, as it was called, was conducted at the base of the mountain, and most vendors had a second stall in the city proper for the townsfolk. The whole of Tradetown would stay in the shadow until the midday sun rose over the mountain. At the far side was the first of many gates up to the city. It was inconvenient for business, but a more defensible fortress there was not.

The elf looked about with open curiosity but was content to follow Duncan who looked like he knew where he was going. Duncan said, "You look around like that and you'll be the first target for thieves."

The elf didn't stop though, and his nose lifted to catch the scent of baking pasties from the food stalls on the right. "It's small enough that everyone here knows who's a regular and who's passing through. I'm marked anyway except a poor elf like me isn't worth the trouble for some old clothes that won't fit anyone. I'd take that one first," Raviathan said indicating a henpecked man who was dejectedly following a plump wife. "No weapons, has plenty of money for food, bored and careless. Besides," he said batting his eyelashes at Duncan, "I've got my big, strong warrior with me."

Duncan mouth twitched as he suppressed a grin. "No stealing."

"Wasn't planning on it," he replied.

The first stop was a tailor with some readymade clothing for travelers who could not wait for commissioned attire. Raviathan looked at the goods absently for a bit, but when boredom got the better of him, he wandered over to a nearby paddock by the first gate to Dragon's Peak. There was dung and hay, both unfamiliar scents. Raviathan was use to the garbage of a city and the scent of animals struck him as somehow warmer than the sewage and acidic piss common in the poor sections of a city. Though Raviathan had seen a rich nobleman's horse once, this was the first time he had ever seen donkeys. Dog and ox carts were common for transporting goods in Ferelden with only the nobility able to afford something as exotic as a horse. Horses were never used for anything but displaying wealth.

The horse he had seen had been a beautiful animal with a shining dark coat, Raviathan could admit that, but though fine the animal had been high strung. It had been frightened by the crowd and bared its teeth, its head jerking up high, ears flattened and eyes rolled back. The noble had struck it with a riding crop, making the already aggressive animal balk, its steel shoes striking on the cobble stone street in a loud, painfully sharp staccato. Raviathan and the rest of the elves had shied back knowing they would have been nothing to the huge animal and easily crushed. A year later he and his aunt had cared for a woman whose legs had been trampled by a horse. Even though she would regain the use of her legs, the young woman would bear the marks for the rest of her life. Between the two experiences, he was nervous around the giant animals.

These round, little beasts were quite tame with long flicking ears and fuzzy winter coats, and though solid, were not at all like the imposing muscle of a full horse. Maybe it was just he felt a kinship with smaller animals with long ears, but these creatures had the friendliness of pets. Amused by the odd beasts, Raviathan rubbed a docile roan's nose who grunted in contentment at the affection.

"You be wanting passage then?" an old hunched man asked.

"No, ser," Raviathan replied, stepping back with his head down. "I meant no offense."

Despite his age, the little man appeared wiry. "This one here is Tully," he replied conversationally.

"These are donkeys, aren't they?" Raviathan ventured. "I've never seen one before."

"Oh sure'n they be. Sturdy things they are. Stronger than they look too. Best way to get up the switchbacks, road's as narrow as it be. Here." Unsure about the invitation, Raviathan watched the man cut an apple. "Keep your fingers flat."

Raviathan did as he was shown and smiled as the donkey's soft lips roamed over his hand until he found the apple slice. Powerful, blunt teeth scraped his palm, and Raviathan realized the creature would have been able to bite off his fingers had the man malicious intent and told him the wrong way of holding the apple. He examined the man again, wondering at his kindness.

"Rav," Duncan called.

"Thank you, ser," he said quietly. "Excuse me." He couldn't help a glance back over his shoulder at the elder human.

To Raviathan's surprise Duncan had chosen clothes that were the closest a vendor had to fit an elf. Elves generally made their own clothing, since tailors were expensive, and readymade articles for the poorer customers were all human sized and were only done when a tailor had no other orders. Elven sizes were a rare find at best. The shirts and pants Duncan had bought him, along with a warm cloak for rain, were the smallest available but were over large. At Raviathan's suggestion, Duncan also bought him a simple, grey wool blanket and had the tailor cut a hole in the center so Raviathan could belt it around his waist as a makeshift poncho. "Thank you, Duncan. I've never had tailor made clothes before."

"Think nothing of it. I'm only sorry we can't find something that fits better." Next they found an armorer who was able to make some adjustments to the studded leather armor Raviathan wore so that it fit better, but it was a hopeless cause for the time they had. "Here," Duncan said handing Raviathan two silvers. "Meet me at the road in an hour and bring lunch."

Duncan kept an eye on the elf as he bought a bedroll for the boy and some rations. The old warrior visited with contacts and gathered news and rumors, but mainly he was curious to see what the boy did with some unsupervised freedom. The elf bartered with a vendor over a silverite bowl and candlestick. The vendor was originally not going to deal with him, claiming the goods were stolen, but the elf was able to talk the woman into a fair price.

From there he visited an apothecary stand where he spent considerable time talking to the stout woman. She had been dismissive of the boy at first but warmed to him considerably after a few minutes. They wrote out various recipes to exchange, discussed techniques, and she showed him the multitude of oils and compounds, holding some up to the light and explaining them thoroughly. She glanced around surreptitiously, making sure the guards were busy, then invited the boy behind the stall. They continued to discuss in low voices, casting out the occasional glance to make sure they had privacy. When Raviathan took his leave, they clasped hands with friendly farewells and smiles.

Next the boy bought three books and finally some pasties and mini berry pies with the two silvers Duncan had given him. On time, the elf trotted up to him handing Duncan two of the pasties and two mini pies keeping one of each for himself. When he handed out the left over coppers, Duncan said, "Keep them," speaking around the vegetable and poultry delight in his mouth. Overall he had been impressed with the elf's initiative and purpose and that he hadn't tried to run away, not that this would be the best place to try.

When they left Tradetown, Duncan started on a wide hard packed dirt road that intersected the Bannorn instead of returning to the Imperial Highway. Duncan explained that they would be stopping by Redcliffe, but Raviathan simply shrugged. Geography held no interest for him, and he expected Duncan knew where he was going, and that was fine by him. By late evening they came to the little inn Duncan had planned on. Duncan found the elf's willing ears refreshing. It wasn't that he didn't have the other Wardens' attention—many found the history of the Grey fascinating—but the elf had seemed to drink in his words and asked intelligent questions. He had a way of drawing more of Duncan's opinions out along with the history.

As before, the inn was crowded. Small numbers of militia were often traveling between Ostagar, the capital, and various holdings carrying messages, reviewing the supply lines or the like, and many merchants were moving north for the winter. Just as before, there was one room left with one large bed.

Resigned to the fact that he might have to argue with the elf, Duncan tried for reason first. "Rav, I know this is a sensitive subject, but I can't stand another night like the one before." The elf frowned looking down. "I think you know what I mean."

He rubbed his arms, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "Cold."

Duncan wondered again at the elf's reluctance. "It's just sleep."

"I know," he said hunching into himself.

Startled, Duncan realized the elf really would prefer to freeze again rather than share a large bed even when there would be no sex involved. Had there been some abuse he was unfamiliar with? He couldn't imagine Adaia either doing something like that or allowing it. "Would it help if we put the pillows in the middle? Like a wall."

"It isn't that. I know you're not… It's…" Raviathan's brow knit as if in pain. Finally, he looked at Duncan for a long moment. Elven eyes caught the candlelight and reflected it back like sun shining through a stain glass window.

So strange, elven eyes. "Rav? I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I don't understand what the problem is."

Raviathan looked at the bed for a long moment, which made Duncan wonder all the more. Just what concession was he asking for that the elf had to struggle this much? Finally, Raviathan exhaled. "Alright."

The two left for dinner. This crowd was much more sedate, most tired from long travel. The booth Duncan selected allowed for private conversation as they waited for their meal. "Rav, can you explain what happened at the estate?"

Raviathan fidgeted. "What do you want to know?"

"Mainly your tactics. What you accomplished was rather extraordinary."

That seemed to ease the elf. "I poisoned the guards."

"But you weren't carrying poison."

"Rat poison at the estate. Thins the blood. That kind of poison is useful because the rats crawl off to die, so servants don't have to clean them up or miss one and have it rot and contaminate the food. I mixed it with their lunch and in a case of beer. After the poison, the guards were easy to cut down. If there are any who survived the initial attack, they'll be d-dead in a week. Internal bleeding. Then I started a fire, and that distracted everyone enough that Soris and I could sneak the women out." Raviathan kept his head down throughout the story.

"Are you worried about those guards?"

"Some. I didn't see any survivors, but they could have just run. I keep thinking I should send a messenger… or something. So they can be treated. But they'll just hurt us again. Be even angrier after what happened. I don't know what to do, but I know they're dying. Slow. I wonder what they're going through. I don't know if there are survivors, but if there are… I'm torturing them." Raviathan buried his hand in his hair. "I… Duncan, there are things I did, and I don't understand them. Sick things," he whispered.

"Like what?" Raviathan just shook his head at Duncan's question. Duncan rested a hand on the elf's shoulder. "The first person I killed was a Grey Warden."

Raviathan's head shot up. He wasn't crying, but liquid made the natural shine of his eyes dance.

"Do you want to hear about it?" Raviathan nodded. Duncan squeezed his shoulder before starting. "Ser Guy. I was a thief, had been living on my own for years. At the time, I was mad at him for fighting back. Why couldn't he just let me steal the ring? Why did he have to show up to begin with? Why did he have to make it more difficult? I was angry and confused. He was a human who had done me no wrong, and I killed him. By all accounts, he was an honorable man. I could see that. What was worse, he wasn't mad at me. When I killed him, he accepted it. I was conscripted into the Wardens as a punishment. I struggled against the Grey Wardens, against my Commander."

Giving his shoulder a final squeeze, Duncan dropped his hand when a barmaid approached. The woman brought their food, venison stew along with more standard fare. She placed a mug of ale and one of water on the table and left. Duncan ate as if he had had no food in days. Raviathan took a share of the meal but did not eat. "So, what happened?"

"I was a Grey Warden. Eventually, I came to terms with that. To be a Grey Warden is a purpose like no other. There isn't anyone else in Thedas who can do what we do. Rav, what you will become is a guardian. Dwarves, elves, humans, none of that matters anymore when it comes to what we are. They all need protection. They will all need you. I know your instincts are at war right now, but they are exactly what the Grey need. We stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn. Sometimes that means fighting our fellow man in order to protect them. We must have the courage to do what is necessary, even if it isn't noble or pretty. Guardians aren't always knights in shining golden armor. We do whatever it takes to stop a Blight. If we hadn't in the past, human, elf, dwarf, none of us would exist today. The world would be covered by darkspawn, corrupted beyond recognition."

Raviathan tore the crust off his bread and nibbled it. "I think I understand."

"Give yourself time. What happened was horrible, and the feelings you have are natural. Anyone would struggle in your situation. Myself included."

"You said Grey Wardens only take the best. Do you still want me?"

"Why in the Maker's name wouldn't I?"

"I used poison. The fire. It's not like I'm that great a fighter. I… well, I cheated."

Duncan scoffed. "You weren't stupid, and that's supposed to make you less worthy? Brute strength isn't everything. Grey Wardens are tacticians. Tricksters when necessary. That showed a lot of cunning, Rav. Even in a rage, you think. I find that more impressive than a barbarian with a hammer."

"Really?"

"War machines are powerful, but without a mind to build, direct, or use them, they are only a collection of wood and metal."

Raviathan turned back to his stew, his appetite returned though he ate slowly. "You're a good man, Duncan."

Duncan grinned. "No longer the scoundrel you saw in the alienage?"

A slight smile eased Raviathan's mouth. "No. Last night… If you had any other purpose… but you didn't. I guess I can trust that enough."

"If you ever feel the need to talk."

"Thank you, Duncan."

It wasn't until they were in bed, the elf already curled as far to his side as he could get, that Duncan realized how much extra about the Wardens he had unintentionally told. He smiled as he let sleep overtake him. He'd have to watch himself, but the elf was turning out to be more than just a skilled fighter. He hoped the boy would survive.


	19. Strange Bedfellows – Meeting of Minds

Dawn broke with dark clouds brooding to the south. A clammy oppressiveness indicated rain, or more likely sleet, was on it's way. Unperturbed by the weather, Raviathan peppered Duncan with questions with even more interest than he had the day before. What did it take to be an official Grey Warden? What was the Joining Ritual? Were they under the King's command? If not, did they still have to obey the same laws? How was the Order organized? Where were the other Grey Wardens located? How old was the Order? How many Grey Wardens were there? And so on.

Conversation helped Raviathan keep his mind off his aches from the long miles of walking. He had maintained his physique with the exercises his mother had taught him, but there wasn't much walking in the tiny alienage. Different muscles were being put to the test, and between that and the cold, Raviathan felt decidedly stiff.

Duncan tried to appease the lad's curiosity by detailing what he knew about the First through Fourth Blights. By noon, Duncan had run out of answers he could give about the Wardens and their history. "Rav, I wish I could tell you everything now, but some of this is secret to the Order. I promise after you're an official Grey Warden, I and the others will answer any questions you have to the best of our ability and without reservation, but you must be patient for now."

The elf crossed his arms looking away. "Am I bothering you?"

"No, no. I'm glad you're curious, but there are reasons why I can't answer now. There are secrets known only to the Wardens. You'll understand in time." Duncan heard a soft sigh as the elf acquiesced. "If you don't mind my asking." Raviathan looked up at him with mild curiosity. "I have a few questions."

The elf gave a rueful grin. "Okay. I can't imagine I have anything interesting to say though."

"Let's start with this. You carry your clothes and the like in the sack, so what's in the case?" He suspected he knew from the apothecary's interest the day before, but he wanted to hear it from the elf.

Raviathan looked down at the case, surprised by the question. "It's my healer's kit."

"Then you know the healing arts?" Duncan asked in delight. An herbalist or someone skilled in poisons he had expected, but a healer would be immensely valuable.

"My aunt taught me. I know a bit about herbs, how to make poultices, compresses, tinctures, potions, splints, casts, set bones, how to clean and stitch a wound and keep it from infection and the like. I can deliver babies too, but I doubt you'll need much of that. Solyn made sure I knew everything she did."

Duncan grinned. "So you're a physician as well as an herbalist?"

"Sure," the elf said nonchalantly, but he could tell by Duncan's grin that his skills would be put to use. There was satisfaction in that. He was coming to terms with his new fate, and it was gratifying that his skills which always had to be hidden were finally going to be useful without the fear he had before. It was an odd freedom that this conscription had brought.

"Excellent. Next question then," he said watching the elf in his periphery. "You didn't seem very upset about that man who propositioned you that first night." Raviathan shrugged. "Did it bother you?"

The elf's eyes turned to him mischievously though he kept his face forward. His baritone went up an octave as he dramatically lamented, "Oh Maker. Why oh why did you curse me with this stunning visage of loveliness? Why must I forever be tormented with the attentions of others? Have you no heart, Maker? This beauty is like a curse." Duncan chuckled, and Raviathan's white teeth flashed. He looked directly at Duncan, becoming serious. "I was propositioned often enough at the docks, but so were the other elves. The humans keep calling me beautiful. I hear them talk about it."

"Well, you are beautiful," Duncan said as a simple statement of fact. Elves were often considered the most attractive of the four known humanoid races but also the weakest. The Dalish were the only elves who were respected as hunters. While Raviathan may have been joking, he really was stunningly beautiful even for one of his race. Where Adaia was delicate, Raviathan was more angular and sculpted, but they shared the same sensuous mouth, large eyes, and exotic coloration. "Don't get me wrong, Rav," he amended, seeing a shadow pass over the elf's face. "I can enjoy looking at a well made dress on a woman, but that doesn't mean I want to wear it." At the elf's troubled look Duncan asked, "Does it bother you that I said that?"

"No. Not really. I know you're not interested in me that way. I'm sorry I acted like that the other night. It was just easier to be angry than grieve."

"I thought as much," said Duncan sympathetically. "Apology accepted."

Raviathan nodded. He figured Duncan already knew he was sorry, but he felt better for having said it. "I don't mean to sound arrogant or vain. I know I'm good looking for an elf, but that seems exaggerated when I'm among humans."

Duncan was surprised the elf was willing to discuss racial politics and was glad to see he was speaking about it with an open mind. "Let me first say I'm sorry elves have been treated so badly. What happened at your wedding was another in a long line of injustices that started centuries before the First Blight. I don't mean to trivialize that at all, but I would like to speak openly." Raviathan gave him a long look that was curious if somewhat guarded, then nodded for him to continue. "Your race is considered more attractive in general. Even elven men are pretty by our standards, and you're not only beautiful, but exotic as well. And human men who would normally not be attracted to another man aren't as particular when it comes to elven men. But you already know that."

Raviathan crossed his arms. "Sometimes I get more attention than I like, especially from men like that. But they don't do that because I'm better looking or not. Looks have little to do with it. A woman who carries herself with confidence is more attractive even if she isn't necessarily more beautiful. It has more to do with what I am than what I look like. I hate that being an elf means that people assume I'm automatically up for sale. A human woman walks into a bar and the men buy her drinks. They just try to buy me."

"Have you had much of that? I didn't think you'd been outside of the alienage that much."

"On occasion," he admitted. "I made sure to walk home with a group when I was working at the docks."

"Hmm," Duncan murmured. "Please take this in the light it is intended." Raviathan looked back at him with interest. "You've had a few bad days, and we have been in rough areas, but if you carry yourself a little differently, you might get propositioned less."

The elf cocked his head at him. "Go on."

"I bet you didn't get hassled on the way back from the Arl's estate."

"No," Raviathan said still watching him closely. Duncan hunched his shoulders and looked up, wide eyed and frightened. Raviathan narrowed his eyes, studying the man, then lifted up his chest which naturally squared his shoulders. His face became stony and impassive.

"Maybe not that hard all the time," Duncan said reviewing the boy, "but something like that. It's enough of a reminder that even roses have thorns."

Raviathan laughed at the light teasing. "My mother said that stupid or inexperienced wouldn't notice, but a guard who had a better eye could tell I've had training. And what trouble that could lead to. I couldn't walk around armed, so it was better to go unnoticed. She taught me a few techniques to blend into the background or at look less like a threat to those who would notice."

"She was right. But you're a Grey Warden now. It's time to stop hiding." Duncan watched as Raviathan thought over his new role. He could see the elf start to take his words to heart, see an easy confidence come into his relaxed gait.

"Thank you, Duncan. It's a habit, but you're right. I think my mom wanted to teach me more, but what she did teach me was for safety."

"Just make sure that your thorns don't get so prickly no one can see the rose."

Raviathan chuckled. "To be honest being good looking has made my life easier."

"Oh?"

Raviathan's grin flashed again. "Made getting girls ridiculously easy," which made Duncan smile in spite of himself. Raviathan became more introspective as he added, "When I was young I noticed my punishments were lighter from everyone except my mom. I've gotten better treatment than I should have too. Not always, but there were times I noticed people soften up to me. Sometimes all I had to do was smile. Other times, even when I was mean or did something wrong, they'd let me get away with more than I should have. I think my mother was tougher to make up for it." He shrugged. "I always liked it that I took after her. Made me feel closer to her and like I came from something special."

"You did. No one in Thedas could hold a candle to her." Adaia had a refined perfection to her exotic features that could have made her a legend in Val Royeaux had she the inclination. Those looks sometimes had a price, but more often people were intimidated by it or bowed more easily to her wishes. The darkspawn might not care if they were killed by perfection incarnate, but her charm would have helped the Wardens navigate the politics they often had to deal with despite their neutral status. Duncan wondered briefly how Cailan would react to Raviathan, if the elf could charm the king, but he wasn't convinced Raviathan had enough of his mother's training to become an effective agent for the Wardens.

A bittersweet smile touched Raviathan's lips as he remembered his mother. "How did you know her?"

"We had a few misadventures."

The elven eyes lit up awaiting the tale. "You have to tell me. No, seriously," he added as Duncan looked like he was about to tease him. "You have to."

Duncan chuckled. "Alright. It was when she first moved to Denerim, before she married your father. She was still more on the wild side and often skulked around the city at night unbeknownst to Valendrian. She didn't steal, but she had a lot of curiosity. Worse than a cat. As it was, she started turning her hand at spy work."

The shine in Raviathan's eyes glowed vibrantly. Duncan couldn't help but feel charmed as he had with Adaia. Raviathan had just admitted he had that effect, practically warned him, but it didn't lessen the little sense of delight that warmed Duncan's chest. What was it about the two elves that so easily charmed others? Perhaps Adaia had been the only one immune to the boy, or perhaps she hadn't. Whatever the case, she had loved her son enough to make sure he wasn't spoiled or defenseless. Raviathan, for his part, was certainly still in the thrall of her memory.

"Nothing too bad," Duncan continued. "Mainly following cheating spouses for the nobility or finding out a bit of intrigue, but she was becoming rather infamous for occasionally taunting the guards. One night I was returning to our Denerim base when I saw her evading the two patrols of guards. To my surprise, she decided to try and hide out in the Grey Warden base. Now I couldn't have that. When I cornered and confronted her, I offered her a job in exchange for not calling the guard.

"We had some of our equipment pilfered a few days before, and I had suspected it was a bored nobleman, but I had no proof. Three nights later the equipment returned along with the lord's signet ring. We couldn't openly confront the man, but the two waged a covert war, and I put Adaia in charge of our defenses. A sword of ours would be taken, then it would be returned along with a painting. The painting would disappear a week after that along with a few books, which would turn up four days later with an attractive vase, and so on. It brought a delightful sense of randomness to the base, and a few Wardens adopted the Nightcat as a sort of mascot. After a few months of this, the nobleman asked me to conscript him so he could get out of an arranged marriage, which I obliged. I made Adaia the same offer, but she decided to settle down with your father." Duncan looked down at Raviathan who had a wistful smile playing on his lips. "When I told her Grey Wardens couldn't have families, I think that's what made her change her mind."

Raviathan returned Duncan's gaze looking serene. "The Nightcat. That's appropriate for her."

"You have quite a bit of her in you," Duncan said.

Raviathan's serenity turned to melancholy. "Not really. I'm too cautious and… well," he sighed. "I'm not like her. Nothing seemed to get her down, or at least not for long. It's like she had this fire that couldn't be quenched. I've never known anyone who had such a playful attitude towards life."

"I don't regret letting her go." Duncan put a hand on his shoulder. The elf looked up at him in surprise. "I would have regretted losing you, though."

Raviathan looked fixedly forward as a tinge of red warmed his cheeks. It was only after they had travelled another mile that the elf spoke again. "Is there anything else you wanted to know?"

Duncan considered. "You can fight and heal. What other skills do you have?"

"Hmm. I can cook a bit. I know how to make some basic poisons."

"Is that a threat?"

The elf smiled. "No. Not anymore at least," he said bumping into Duncan playfully. "There's not a whole lot. Mom taught me what she knew as an entertainer: how to play a few instruments, sing and dance, some sleight of hand tricks with coins, juggling, and the like. I can read and speak Arcanum and darn a sock. I know a little accounting and book keeping." Accounting? That was an odd skill to have. As Duncan thought about it though, it would be useful in keeping the Warden accounts. "Anything in particular you want to know about?"

"Adaia specialized in stealth. Did she teach you that?"

"Oh yes. She taught me how to cloak in shadow or go unnoticed in the background as a servant. There was a lot of tumbling practice, and I can keep my balance on high walls. She was starting to teach me how to break into places. I haven't done much of that though. Especially after she died, I didn't want to bring more trouble to my family. I can pick locks too, but it's been years since I practiced any of that. After she died my father got rid of all our weapons and equipment except for a lock pick set I kept in the bottom of my trunk. I'm pretty rusty."

Not so rusty you couldn't take out an estate's worth of guards and nobles. A flash of lighting lit the distant south followed by a low roll of thunder that echoed off the hills. "Do you follow politics much?"

Raviathan bit his lips, a habit Duncan noticed meant it was a subject he was reluctant to talk about. "After Ness came to Denerim, my father told me why it was important to start paying attention to politics, that knowing about Howe had let her family get to safety before he ordered a purge. I know little bits and rumors, but I never paid much attention to them."

"Rumors? What kind of rumors?"

"Which nobles are having affairs. Who's lost their family fortune and is in too much debt but is hiding it. Who got drunk at a party and made a fool of themselves. Shems forget about their servants, and sometimes there was talk."

Gossiping servants were something Duncan always suspected. Duncan had made sure his Wardens were careful around the few servants they had to clean and cook. "There were never thoughts to blackmail them?"

"We don't care that much other than to watch for danger. Any elf who saw too much or got some overly ambitious ideas would disappear or get hurt. Besides, who's going to believe an elf? If we spoke up, we'd just make a target of ourselves. Most of its pretty common knowledge anyway. You knew about Vaughan, didn't you?"

"Not much. Only that he was left in Arl Kendell's absence."

Raviathan looked at him quizzically. "Not about the abused servants or disappearances?"

Duncan searched his memory. "He was popular with some of the nobles. Was considered a man's man in that he liked to hunt, race, and bed many women to those who appreciate such distinctions," Duncan said with a trace of loathing breaking through his calm. "There were some rumors that he was short tempered. I didn't know the extent of his… activities until Valendrian said more."

Raviathan considered that with some surprise. Vaughan had been notorious at the alienage and his elven workers lived at the estate when their options for employment were with him or a brothel.

"I agree with your father though, Rav. It pays to be aware of these things even if we are neutral. Howe and what happened with the Couslands are a perfect example as is our relationship with the king."

The elf smirked. "There are rumors about Cailan too. He's been discreet, but he's had a number of affairs."

That bit of news wasn't known to most, but Duncan didn't doubt it. "You've got an impressive network of spies Rav, but be very cautious with who you speak to about such things."

"Of course."

Giving the elf a sidelong look, Duncan asked, "What else?"

Though there was no smile, Duncan could tell the elf was amused by the question. "The queen knows about them. She's been keeping it hidden from her father though." The elf became serious. "Is it true married humans don't sleep in the same bed?"

That was an odd question. Duncan was still working on the significance of Cailan's bed company. Loghain was more politically practical than Maric had been, but such knowledge could make the Teyrn unpredictable. He wasn't sure how to gauge the reliability of Raviathan's rumors though. "Generally, no. Among the nobility however, there are political marriages where there is no love, and in those cases they often have different rooms. In Orlais that practice is much more common. The emperor and empress do not share the same rooms, and there are even rooms for official concubines."

Raviathan opened his mouth in shock then shook his head. "Official concubines? Humans are so strange. In any case there are some suspicions about the queen's handmaiden. They could be lovers, but I don't think so."

"Oh?" Duncan asked.

"I have a cousin who works at the palace. Just a chambermaid, but she sees things and asks me what I think about them. The Queen's handmaiden is an Orlesian elf, and that sometimes means someone… trained. I haven't ever seen either woman let alone talk to them, so this is all just presumption. What I do know is that Queen Anora and her handmaiden are close. I think if it were an affair, she would be more discreet though."

"More discreet?" Duncan asked interested to see the elf's thought pattern.

"The affection they share is casual. If it were an affair, they would hide it more. When I was selling a silverite bowl and candlestick yesterday at Tradetown, the woman accused me of stealing them. They were, but the most suspicious thing to do is be defensive. People hide what they're afraid of."

"When did you steal those?" Duncan's habit of theft as a youth had saved his life more than once, but it had also gotten him into a lot of trouble.

"When we were leaving the Arl's estate. It's not like his corpse is going to need them, and there aren't any heirs to raise a fuss."

"Be careful what you steal," Duncan began but the elf cut him off.

"I'm not an idiot. And it isn't a habit," Raviathan assured him. "I didn't dishonor my family, and I won't do that to you. I'll admit selling them was a bit risky, but they were wasting space, and I figured I could talk the woman into it."

"And if she decided to call the guard?" Duncan asked thinking the risk had been a poor one. Intent on using this as a lesson so he wouldn't have to put up with the nonsense he gave Genevieve, Duncan readied his lecture.

"I'd say I was selling them for my master. It doesn't hurt we're both dark. Makes it easy to believe we're traveling together. They were unmarked in any case. Besides, if you were willing to save me from a hanging I had confessed to, you weren't going to let a baseless accusation of theft interfere," Raviathan replied. "You think I didn't notice you watching me? Speaking of which, would you mind selling the jewelry? That is too suspicious for me."

Feeling sheepish, Duncan decided to let the subject go for now and instead asked, "Then how do you know about Cailan?"

Raviathan grinned. "She caught him in bed with a naked woman. Neither of them even noticed my cousin. I don't think that needs a lot of interpretation."

The skies that had been threatening rain all morning finally opened up. The two donned their oiled fur cloaks and walked in silence down the road. Thankfully the ground turned spongy with the rain rather than slick or squishy so their progress was not hindered much. They reached the inn only an hour into the dark of evening. For the first time the inn was not overcrowded though a few soldiers hung about the main room trading tales by the fire. "Would you order the room and food?" Duncan asked wanting to get his feet warm enough so he could feel his toes again.

Raviathan held out his hand for the silvers then went off to talk with the innkeeper. Duncan sat down gratefully by the fire, sinking into the comfortable chair. It had been a few years since he had stopped here, and they had apparently made some improvements in that time. The place gleamed with new wood and fresh whitewall.

A red headed soldier with a scrawny beard was nursing an ale by the fire and only half listening to his fellows. His eyes tracked Raviathan. He glanced at Duncan who fixed him a flat look in return that would be enough to dissuade the man from any unhealthy actions. Having staked his claim so to speak, he leaned back and rested his eyes. The soldiers babbled on about one of the ash warriors they had seen in action then of the various knight orders who were present at Ostagar. The soldiers were still green and hence worked as messengers. They were hoping to pledge an order and so discussion of relative merits and reputations ensued.

Duncan realized he had fallen into a doze when Raviathan touched his arm to wake him. "Food's ready." Part weather and part of years of abuse from combat, Duncan stood with a wince as his muscles protested. He had known he would stiffen up by the fire, but it had been too tempting a call to ignore. He watched Raviathan move with enviable grace to the dinning room. The young never understood how good they had it.

The meal was a standard fare of poultry, recently harvested fall vegetables, mashed turnips, and bread, but it was well made and in generous portions. Raviathan watched Duncan eat then shook his head. "I still can't get over how much you eat. Is that normal for humans?"

Sidestepping the issue, Duncan replied, "Wardens tend to lead an active life. I'm sure your appetite will grow soon."

When they finished, the serving maid said, "Your baths are ready. Just down the hall and on the right."

"Thanks," Raviathan said leading the way.

Two copper tubs were ready with steaming water and a fire keeping more buckets hot. Soap and fresh towels were on a bench. "How did you manage this with the money I gave you?" Duncan asked, worried that he wouldn't like the answer, though now that he saw the ready bath, he'd be willing to pay whatever it cost to keep it.

Like most elves who couldn't afford well made textiles, Raviathan dressed in layers to protect against the cold. The added clothes helped fill out his loose armor, but it reminded Duncan just how slight the boy was without the extra bulk. He had lots of well developed, lean muscle, but elven frames were willowy as a rule. "I saw the innkeeper's hands were already bloody from winter chapping and made him a salve. It worked so well he asked me to care for a boil on his son's leg. Then I made a cream to sooth his father's hemorrhoids." His voice was muffled as he pulled off his tunic and undershirt, "I didn't ask for payment, but they were happy to throw in these baths and tomorrow's breakfast."

Part of Raviathan's lithe frame was from youth with the addition of an elf's natural structure, but the young man did have hard muscles in his V shaped torso. There wasn't a pound of fat Duncan noticed as he undid the many clasps on his own armor. Raviathan left his wool socks on as long as he could, padding to one of the tubs before pulling them off. The baths might be warm, but the stone floor wasn't. Thinking the boy had the right idea, Duncan followed suit, taking off his socks just before he entered the tub. Duncan couldn't help his sigh of relief, and Raviathan smiled, glad he had done right by the old warrior.

Raviathan kept his eyes closed as he soaked, enjoying the luxury of spreading out in the welcome heat. The tub was so large he could easily dunk his whole body in. As the warmth finished unfreezing his aching legs, Raviathan decided he wasn't about to put his frozen, soggy clothes back on that night. He didn't care if any of the inn's patrons laughed at him. A towel would have to do until he got to their room to change into his sleeping things.

"Duncan? Do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

"You can ask, though I might not answer."

Raviathan dipped under to wet his hair then started soaping up. Duncan wasn't ready to do anything more than soak for the time being. "Do you often have nightmares?"

The old warrior took his time answering. "Lately, yes. Did I bother you?"

"No," Raviathan said. "I was just wondering." He smiled with a brightness that was a bit forced, "I guess I was so warm last night I slept like the dead." Duncan wondered if he had said anything in his sleep. "Um," the elf hedged. Duncan's eyes silted open to see the elf watching him covertly. "Do all humans have hair? On their bodies?"

Duncan chuckled at the cautious question. "Not everyone, but it's common enough. Men more than women."

"So," Raviathan asked studying him a little more openly, "some human women have hair on their chests too?"

At that Duncan laughed. "Not on their chests. Just like women don't grow beards. Leg hair is found on both, but women tend to have finer hair. Some men, like women, have very little hair. Some men have a great deal all over or on certain parts. It just depends."

Having satisfied his delicate questions for the night, Raviathan finished his wash and dried off. He put on his socks, boots, and a towel wrapped around his waist. "Do you want any more hot water before I go?"

Young men recover too quickly, Duncan thought. He wasn't even ready for a wash yet, still enjoying the heat of the soak. "If it isn't any trouble." It didn't occur to him until Raviathan was pouring more hot water in that he might have asked just to get a better look at a nude human, but the elf had his back turned and was giving him as much privacy as possible. Raviathan returned the kettle to the fire and gathered his things. Duncan asked, "You're not getting dressed?"

"Clothes are wet and cold. I'll dress in the dry stuff I have upstairs."

Duncan leaned further in the tub as the renewed hot water eased him. He would have to be careful he didn't fall asleep again. "Make sure you go unnoticed. One of the army men was looking at you."

"Oh," said the elf startled. "Thanks for the notice. I've left a second key here. Room's on the second floor, third door on the left."

The door clicked close, and Duncan swished the water about to even out the heat at his feet. He thought about Raviathan. So far he had seen a bright and resourceful lad, clever with people even though he didn't know humans well. That was as far as he got before the heat had him dozing.

The Archdemon raised its head to a sky of black rolling clouds. Horrible and powerful, beautiful and terrifying. Darkspawn had no souls, but the Archdemon did. A god made flesh, ancient, and full of corruption. It screamed and pain lanced through Duncan's head. He woke with a start. It wasn't just the dreams that disturbed him. Afterwards he could feel the taint crawling under his skin like spiders. It made him want to pick his skin off, but thankfully the feeling didn't last long after he woke. In a few minutes, as his heart slowed down to its normal pace, the itching under his skin dissipated.

The water was still warm but felt tepid compared to the earlier heat. Duncan washed up quickly. A towel was near the bathtub as were a fresh pair of dry socks. His armor and wet clothing were gone, and there were dry clothes waiting for him by the fire. His nightshirt was there as well, getting toasty. It could have been a servant, but most likely it was Raviathan who had done this while he slept. Duncan was grateful as his long, warm nightshirt heated his skin and but annoyed with himself that he hadn't woken when the elf moved about. Allowing himself to fall so deeply asleep that he had been completely unaware of the elf had been careless. Even in these pleasant surroundings, there was always a chance for something unexpected to happen. As Duncan left, he noticed Raviathan had the sense to make sure the bathing room door was locked.

Sitting in the lone chair in their room, Raviathan looked up from his sewing to smile at Duncan when he entered. The room was lit by only a single candle, but that was enough for elven vision to work by. Both their sets of armor hung on stands, and their clothes laid out to dry overnight. Warming stones had been placed on the bed as well. How much of this was the servants and how much the elf? "If you had taken much longer, I was going to wake you."

"They didn't have a room with two beds?" Duncan asked.

"This was cheaper. Speaking of which," Raviathan pointed with his chin to Duncan's change on the little table by the bed.

"Make sure you don't forget that tomorrow," Duncan replied removing his leggings and socks. He looked over to see the elf watching pensively. "Is something wrong?"

The elf put down his sewing and watched him with large, unreadable eyes. "You've been very kind to me, Duncan."

It made Duncan sad to see the elf watch him like that now that he understood the expression. It was like watching a sweet tempered dog who had been beaten his whole life and couldn't quite bring itself to believe anyone would be nice to it. "Let's get some sleep."

After removing the stones, Duncan tossed the two pillows in the center of the bed, but Raviathan said, "Don't worry about it."

"No?"

Raviathan stopped packing away his half tailored clothes and turned his head to look over his shoulder, casting an overwrought seductive glance Duncan's way. The elf's voice was deep and low with the intimacy of a lover. "I suppose since you've been able resist my charms thus far, we can spare the pillows."

Duncan laughed as he slid under the warmed blankets. Raviathan finished packing then curled up on his side of the bed, back towards Duncan.

Normally Duncan would have sent him south so he could become more familiar with the other two recruits, but Raviathan didn't have an escort, and there was no immediate need. In any case, Duncan enjoyed getting to know the boy. As the days passed, Duncan found he was growing fond of the lad, and there was no mistake that he was helping the young elf adjust to the world outside the alienage. He was distantly aware of Raviathan shifting in his sleep as his own tiredness overtook him.


	20. Strange Bedfellows – Shem Adventures

Usually Duncan awoke with a start, covered in sweat from his nightmares. Terrifying shadows hunted him down in the endless dark tunnels of the Deep Roads, but the persistent, maddening song of the Archdemon had been muted so as to be unnoticeable during the last two nights. He was surprised to find he woke feeling more rested than he had in a month since the dreams had started. He took a moment to savor the feeling. Instead of taint induced nightmares, he had been back at the Warden compound in Denerim, the inviting aromas of cooking making him long for supper. The Calling was still in the near future, but respite was welcome. He was equally surprised to see the sleeping elf curled up next to him with a warm hand on his bicep. Raviathan was being downright cuddly.

Rain fell hard against the window. Duncan tried to ease out of bed so as not to disturb the elf, but Raviathan's head raised slightly with a murmured "mmm?" that was entirely too cute. Duncan smiled down at the elf, and, on impulse, brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over Raviathan's features. Raviathan stretched under the blankets then blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"You can sleep in more if you'd like," Duncan said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Mmmh. Rain's too heavy for travel I take it," Raviathan said, looking out the window.

"For now it is. If it clears up before noon, we'll go. Otherwise we'll need to stay another night."

The elf sat up and stretched again, his muscles flexing this way and that, and for a moment, Duncan envied the easy health of the young. They dressed for breakfast, and following Duncan's example, Raviathan left his armor behind. It made sense, Raviathan thought. If they might not be leaving, why wear the heavy stuff. This was the first day he hadn't worn armor since he left Denerim, and as ill fitting as it was, he was surprised by how quickly he had gotten used to it.

Breakfast consisted of potato cakes and onions with some bacon for flavor, yogurt, butter, fruit preserves, and dark wheat bread. Raviathan smiled and shook his head at Duncan's appetite. "I don't know where you put it all. I've been watching. Not all shems eat that much. Not even the guards."

Duncan merely shrugged the comments away. The elf's eyes sharpened on him. "Can't pull that one on me, Duncan."

"What am I pulling?"

"I'm getting better at reading shems. I can tell you're hiding something."

Duncan raised his eyebrows at the comment then took another bite of bread. Raviathan grinned, mischief written in his shining eyes, and Duncan couldn't help a small smile in return before sobering. "I am not allowed to speak of its cause. Otherwise, I would tell you."

Raviathan regarded him, his head cocked as he thought. "Something that's particular to you, or something that's common among Grey Wardens?"

Duncan squeezed Raviathan's forearm, and gave the elf his full attention. "If I could tell you, I would. You'll have to be content knowing that I wish I could answer all of your questions."

A bit startled by Duncan's intensity, Raviathan nodded before they both turned back to their meal. "So," Raviathan started, "what are our plans today? Since we can't travel."

"One, we'll see if we can get a tailor for your clothes. Maybe some other items. If there is a barn or large enough room available here or further in town, I thought we might train."

Raviathan perked up.

"You like the idea then?"

"It's been ages since I've trained," Raviathan said. "If I'm going to uphold the Order, I'd better sharpen up."

"You might regret that tonight."

Raviathan scoffed. "You think I haven't earned a bruise or twenty before?"

The ate in comfortable silence as Duncan pondered that statement. Why hadn't he thought of Raviathan's lack of injuries before? The elf didn't have the slightest mar on his skin, not from training and not from his battle at the estate. Surely he had been injured. "Do you know how to make healing potions as well?"

"Sure. Cinemer, elfroot, and a base oil. It's not hard. Problem is cinemer is expensive and needs to be processed. I've only been able to get roots, but the oil is most effective."

"How expensive is the oil?"

"Usually around thirty silver or so for a vial. Half sovereign or more for higher quality stuff."

Duncan almost shook his head but caught himself. Though the costs for ingredients would add up, the price still seemed meager compared to the necessity of a whole body. Most households would have a vial of the fast acting healing potion for emergency injuries, but elves would likely not even have that. In the alienage, elves had beautiful children and crippled adults.

When the serving girl passed by, Duncan signaled for her. "Is there an apothecary in town?"

"East, at the edge of town. Old Beth. Backyard overgrown with weeds. Can't miss it."

Duncan pulled out a purse that had five sovereigns worth of coins. "Here. Buy what you need."

The elf took the purse, his eyes widening when he saw gold mixed with silver. "I… Duncan."

"You will be the Wardens' healer. You should be equipped, especially considering that we are going to war." With solemn ceremony, the elf tucked away the pouch of coins. "Take your clothes to be altered by a tailor first. When I'm finished with breakfast, I'll see if there's a barn for us to spar."

"Do you want to meet back here?"

"I'll find you."

Raviathan opened his mouth to protest before shutting it. Despite his travel through the countryside of the Bannorn, Raviathan still measured everything by the sprawling maze that was Denerim. Even Tradetown, which was less than half the size of the Denerim Market, was twice as large as this village. Shaking his head at the strangeness of his new life, he left to get his new clothes to take to a tailor, dressed in armor and weapons, got his oiled cloak, then headed out after receiving directions from the serving girl.

Though the town itself consisted of little more than a collection of houses, a humble chantry, and an inn, Raviathan was fascinated. Everything from the slumping stone and mud architecture to the spaces between buildings he would never see in Denerim was vastly different than anything he had known before. What must it be like to grow up here? Have these homes and muddy streets as your only reference? What would these people think of Denerim's noise and crowds let alone the foreign goods found in the Market?

While the town didn't have a tailor, there was a woman who took in washing and could make alterations. She measured him without fuss after he showed her his coin, though his ears and eyes did get a close examination. Her children stood around the main room staring at him as if he were some exotic animal. They didn't even try to hide their unwavering gaze. "Not many elves around here, are there?"

"Naw, ser. Servants following their lord sometimes. Or the odd Dalish to trade, but that be rare."

One child whispered to his sister, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, "He's so small."

Raviathan raised an eyebrow at the comment. The boy, about ten or so though Raviathan was a poor judge of human children's ages, was still a few inches shorter than he was. Snot ran unchecked from the boy's nose. Most of her children had red noses they either left to leak or rubbed at occasionally. All of them sniffled.

"Look at his eyes," his sister whispered back.

In the alienage, the children would have been given chores to do if they couldn't be polite, especially to a stranger in their home. Raviathan couldn't tell if the difference was from them being human, if humans had a different standard of behavior for elves than they would for their fellows, or if it was this particular family who lacked manners.

"First time they've seen a knife ear up close," the mother said.

Knife ear. Raviathan stiffened at the comment. Heat burned his face, and he wanted out of the house immediately, enough that his skin was itching to get back out into the rain.

"Pretty folk, aren't they," the mother said casting a smile back at her children. Raviathan's brows knit. She hadn't the slightest embarrassment or hesitation at the slur. Bloody shems, he thought.

A child's cry sounded from further within the home. "Ack. That sounds like Ellison. Billy, go see to her, would you, dear?"

The eldest boy left, his gaze focused singularly on Raviathan until the child disappeared into the hall. The other four children continued to stare, the youngest with her thumb in her open mouth, a trail of drool sliding down her hand. Except for the youngest towheaded girl, they all had their mother's unruly, brown curls, square jaw, and thin lips.

"Don't know what's wrong with that child. Just won't stop fussing, especially when I put her down. Not got a wink of sleep last night."

Tension remained in Raviathan's shoulders, but the child's cries called to him, pushing through his resentment. The mother may be another worthless shem, but he couldn't allow her child to suffer for that. Raviathan looked at her children with a critical eye. "Has your family had many colds lately?"

The woman snorted. "Think one is done, then another comes along. All seven of them were laid up."

Seven? No, he must have misheard. He glanced back at the woman who was measuring his legs. She still looked to be in the midst of her third decade. "Seven… children?"

"Seven and this one on the way," she said patting her stomach. She turned her grin up at him. Three of her teeth were missing. "That ain't including my husband neither when he's sick," she said with a wink.

Maker! "Is…" Raviathan cleared his throat when his voice cracked, "is that normal for humans?"

She shrugged. "I was fourth of twenty. Three died as babes, then lost a few brothers and a sister to bandits that came through."

"I… I'm sorry."

"Aye. Jaken was my favorite brother. Took care of me when I was young, he did. Me mother used to say he was too sweet for this world. Maker had a better place ready for him. Ah, but that was years ago. Don't trouble yourself about it."

Twenty children and so many dead. Raviathan couldn't comprehend the numbers. "Your baby, um, had a cold recently?"

"Yeah."

"Has a fever?"

She looked back up at him, curious. "Yes."

"Vomiting or diarrhea?"

Now she sat back on her heels to stare at him. "Yes to both."

"Any ear pulling? Or liquid coming out of her ears?"

"No."

"May I take a look at her?"

She stared at him. "You know about this sort of thing?"

Raviathan indicated his case. "I'm a healer."

"What sort of healer?"

"I took care of all the elves in my alienage. I was going to start a practice, take in humans too, but then the war in the south started, and I was conscripted."

She didn't speak for a long minute, her guard up as it hadn't been before. "How old are you?"

"I've been practicing medicine for six years, on my own for two. Before that, I mixed potions and poultices often." He returned her gaze. "I'm young, but I'm good at what I do."

She hesitated for a moment longer before standing. She beckoned him with a small wave down the hall. Billy was cradling a large baby. Another baby a few months old lay placidly in a crib ignoring the fuss of siblings. Billy looked startled to see him.

"How old is she?"

"Almost two," the mother replied.

Had the baby been an elf, Raviathan would have guessed three from the size, but she was proportional for a two year old, if huge by elven standards. He felt her forehead, looked into her eyes and mouth, sniffed at her ears. He turned to the mother. "Ear infection."

"Is that bad?"

Raviathan shook his head. "Pretty common. Most children get one or two, sometimes more. How long has she been ill?"

"About a week?" she said turning to Billy to confirm.

"Four days," he said.

"Hmm. That's getting to be a bit long. Here," Raviathan said, holding out his arms. "I need to get a sense of her weight."

Billy hesitated, but at his mother's nod, handed his sister over. Her fussing and half cries stopped almost immediately. Grey blue eyes stared up at Raviathan just as her siblings had. Raviathan was shocked by how heavy and solid she felt in his arms.

The mother put a hand on Billy's shoulder as if to steady herself. "She never takes to strangers."

Raviathan smiled at her. "While your children have runny noses, it's best they don't care for her. Because babies have smaller ears, infections are easier to get. I'll make an elfroot potion for her, but you must give it all. I'm going to make it specially for her, so don't give any to your other children. Make sure she gets a small spoonful in the morning, noon, and at night. Now, ear infections will come back if you're not careful. They're like weeds. Even when you pull one out, if you don't get the roots, it'll grow back. We want to give her enough of the potion that we get the root of the infection as well, understand?"

The mother nodded as though still in shock. Raviathan handed her child back and left to make the potion. The difference now was that he had six children and their mother openly staring at him in silence. The only sounds in the room were the rain and grinding elfroot. Why did shems have to stare so? "So, how long for the clothes?"

"Eh? Oh, right," the mother said, turning back to the little pile he had folded on the floor. "A day? Two perhaps?"

"If it stops raining before noon, we'll need to leave."

"Not likely that. We're due for rain. Probably a few days if not a week."

A week? Duncan would likely have them marching in the rain if it came to that. Finished with the potion, he made the mother and Billy repeat his instructions twice before leaving.

Rain pounded outside creating huge puddles in the muddy road and in the depressions in yards. Occasional gusts pushed the already cold rain in a slant that soaked Raviathan's pants to the knees. Picking his way through slick mud and avoiding puddles, Raviathan tightened his cloak about him, his hood lowered and head down to avoid the rain.

The overgrown 'weeds' in the apothecary's yard were actually one of the healthiest assortment of deathroot, elfroot, and other medicinal herbs that Raviathan had ever seen. Strange that the villagers weren't healthier with this treasure available to them.

The woman who greeted him was explanation enough. She had four score years to her age if she had a day. Thick, grey hair knotted in long kinks around her head like moss hanging from a dead tree. Her hands were gnarled into claws, her joints bulging. Bent in spine and shoulders, she bore twin cataracts that peered at him without seeing more than a shadow of shape. "Eh. What's this?"

"I was told this was an apothecary."

"Aye, aye," she said and retreated into her hut. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling giving spiders a fertile place to spin their webs. "You needing something then? Weather like this breeds illness."

Even if she could still mix, Raviathan wouldn't trust her goods. "I'm a healer. I was wondering if we could trade."

One grey filmed eye boggled at him. She hobbled over in an odd sidestepping gait and poked him. "You setting up shop here?"

"No, just passing through. Headed to the King's army in the south."

Her hostility drained away. "Aye then. That'd be alright."

Selfish shem. Raviathan looked around her hut again. Dried bats hung from a beam along with the oddest assortment of straw dolls and bound twigs. The dolls didn't look like any toy he would give a child. A distillery slumped against a wall, but judging from the dust that covered the glass jars, Raviathan suspected that the crone hadn't used it in years. Everything would need to be boiled before the distillery could be useful again. "Do you have any cinemer root or oil?"

The crone cackled. "Haven't seen the like of that in years. And before you get started, I don't have baccas gum or elbas oil neither."

"How do you care for these people without them?" Of all herbalist ingredients, those three were what brought out the power of a plant. Skullcap might be a mild pain reliever, but when combined with elbas oil, the herb was almost as good as magic at calming a patient and taking away pain.

"Heh. Just from that can tell you ain't from here. They wouldn't know wine from vinegar. Snake piss works as well enough for them, doesn't it. Half a healing is in the mind."

For a moment, Raviathan couldn't even contemplate what she meant. Snake piss? In the mind? For a second he wondered if she referred to some Fade ritual unregulated by the Chantry. When it dawned on him what she truly meant, he felt sickened. While a patient's emotional state did effect their health and recovery, hers was a deep betrayal of trust. He regarded the remnants and dolls with disgust now that he was better able to guess at their purpose. "What are the dolls and dried bats for?"

"Child has the fits, I sells those to keep the demon from plaguing them." Raviathan scoffed. The crone's head swiveled at the sound. "Now don't you go a judging. The mix… well my hands shake too much, the oils are too expensive, and my eyes aren't what they used to be. Plenty of parents are happy enough thinking the demon can't get through."

Raviathan eyed her with growing contempt. "Why haven't you had an apprentice?"

"Apprentice?" She snorted. "In a few years time, lose any livelihood I had, wouldn't I. You're a cocky sort, ain't ya. Just you wait until your eyes glaze over and you hurt all the time. See how you feel about starving through a winter."

"You've got a fortune in that garden of yours, uncared for as it is. These people deserve better."

The crone thumped her foot, the sound loud in the small hut. "See here. What did you come for, eh? You're traveling through, plenty of places to stop. What you want with me then?"

Raviathan glared at her. "An apprentice would have cared for you, your garden, and treated the people here right. All for what's in that head of yours. Decades of experience going to waste and about to die out. I, however, need nothing from you."

The crones jaw worked in agitation. Doubtless there wasn't one person in the village willing to risk her wrath after years of poisoning them with superstition. Raviathan started to leave. The sound of rain became loud when he opened the door. The crone called, "Wait. Just wait a moment. I still might have something you be wanting."

Raviathan raised an eyebrow. She couldn't see it, so he asked, "And what might that be?"

She waved her hand at the ceiling. "Got plenty of herbs."

Herbs were like soldiers; both faded away with age. "What you have here isn't fit enough to cook with."

"The garden," she said with a note of desperation. "Said it yourself that it's good. Let you poke around it for a sovereign."

"A sovereign? Elfroot grows free enough on the side of the road."

"I got more than that. Got eddercap, spindleweed, and white clover. Dark embrium?"

The last made Raviathan hesitate. Spindleweed was rare this far south, but embrium grew poorly in Ferelden's cold climate. If she had embrium, particularly dark embrium, that was still alive, the plant was a miracle. "I want to see what you have before we start negotiating."

"Steal from an old woman, you will. No and no."

Raviathan snorted. "Won't even let me see what I'm buying, and you call me a thief?"

"Heh. As if I haven't known a young man or three before. All sweet talk and wheeling until time comes to pay for what you've done."

Raviathan opened his mouth to counter but stopped himself. The woman twisted her head, wondering at his hesitation. Raviathan pursed his lips and left. He wasn't going to deal with this woman, not this person who knowingly cheated and harmed the people she was meant to protect.

"Here, now. Where are you going?"

"If I change my mind, I'll be back."

"Eh? Maker's breath. Alright, alright, you can take a look, but that's all."

Wind swept Raviathan's cloak to the side before he could tuck it back around him. The crone cursed him from her doorway, not that he minded her vitriol. He'd heard far worse before. Wondering if Duncan had found a place for them to practice, Raviathan quickened his pace back to the inn. Raviathan hoped he wouldn't be a disappointment considering he hadn't trained in years. Would Duncan change his mind about conscripting him?

Guard dogs chained to their houses snarled as he passed. Their sharp barks unnerved him, making him think back to the dog that had wanted to bite his face off. The memory of the dog's high pitched squeal of pain and crunch of his bones still bothered him. Animals were helpless, tools of their owners. They weren't like the shems, guards, or nobles who had attacked him. He hadn't had much of a choice about hurting that dog, and if one of these animals managed to get out of their leash and lunged at him, he'd do what he had to.

Was there a way out of situations like that? Those two shems wouldn't listen to him. Neither would the nobles or guards. Could there have been some trickery to use against the shems who wanted to abuse him? Raviathan nibbled his lip as he thought. If there was a bit of trickery, he didn't know it. Avoid trouble to begin with? He hadn't been paying attention with the two shems. Trouble seen was trouble avoided. Was it? What could he have done differently that day Vaughan came?

Raviathan didn't hear the pounding in the mud until the horse was ten paces away. He turned enough to see a rider bearing down on him, sword raised. The man was wild eyed, a thick black beard obscuring his face. Shock froze Raviathan a spit second before he dove to the side, narrowly missing the sword aimed for his head. Maker's bloody ass! Hoof beats thundered past as Raviathan scrambled up from the mud. He slipped once and needed to brace against the wall of the house he landed next to.

Oaths from the rider and further down street sounded. Five more men ran at him from the direction the rider had come from. The rider turned his horse around. The great animal struggled to keep his feet in the slick mud, his head back as the rider pulled hard on the reins. The beast slipped and scrambled as the rider focused his attention back on Raviathan, sword naked in the rain.

What in the Maker's name? Raviathan ducked between the homes. At least here he could narrow the field of battle. The alley was large enough to allow weapons free range, but that also meant that Raviathan could be flanked and taken down. Take on five armed and prepared men? If they came around the side, Raviathan would have to fight on two fronts. He couldn't do that. They would cut him down for sure. Never slowing, Raviathan raced to the end of the alley.

"Get out here, you murdering little knife ear!"

Raviathan's heart sped. Revenge for Denerim? Had Vaughan's friends come after him? Or maybe the soldiers that had escaped the poison and fire? Only the nobles had money for horses.

He had to find Duncan. These men weren't going to listen to him.

At the end of the alley, Raviathan pushed off the wall to gain momentum for his direction change. He ran through a garden only dimly registering the shocked looks from the family inside the house.

"This way! Headed west," one of the shems yelled. "Cut him off by Thatcher's house!"

Flames take him! They weren't going to be easy to evade. Run into a house to cause confusion? But his attackers could just go around to meet him at the other entrance, and going through a house would only slow him down. Raviathan took a sharp turn down another alley hoping that would befuddle their plans to head him off. Pick off a few who were chasing him? Even the odds? Conscription or not, he would become the most hunted man in Ferelden if he killed the search parties who came after him. The town wasn't big enough for him to hide in. He needed to get to Duncan. How? Loop around and hope for the best? He was running east, away from the inn and Duncan.

Raviathan jerked back when a dog lunged at him. His back hit the wall of a house, a moment's shock that stole his breath, as the dog snapped at the end of his leash.

"There! That bastard is doubling back!"

Maker help me. Raviathan turned from the dog and dashed behind another house. He was close to the edge of town. Not many more options. Once he was in the open, they would surround him. Or the rider would charge him down. Spying a barrel, Raviathan jumped on it then propelled himself on the thick roof thatching. He scrambled up on hands and feet, staying as low as he could. If there was anyone in the house, they would be able to hear him. Only a matter of time before he was caught.

Three of the men charged down the alley.

"You see where he went?"

"Heading east. Probably to return to the rest of his murdering kin."

"Split up south and east then?"

"East and north. They were traveling north."

"Probably still hiding though. Let's turn the town out before we start chasing rabbit tales."

If he stayed on the roof tops, maybe they wouldn't find him. At least not until he had covered enough ground that he could find Duncan. Raviathan half crawled, half slipped down the other side of the roof. He had jumped roof to roof before, but the roofs in Denerim were much closer together and often made of wood or clay shingles rather than thatch. He had also never done roof hopping in heavy rain with a full load of armor, weapons, and his healer's case bouncing at his side. Raviathan stood carefully on the thatch eying the distance. The alley was clear, but the rain obscured the sounds the attackers made. Raviathan had no idea how far away they could be. All the dogs were barking by now.

Now or never. Raviathan took two steps back to get enough distance to build his momentum. He flew through the air and just caught the second roof. He hoisted his legs up and scrambled. How had he been able to roof hop as a child? At least these were one story homes. Voices floated up from inside the home as he worked his way to the west side. Though he couldn't make out their words, he was sure they were concerned by the commotion coming from their roof. Rushed, Raviathan leapt for the next home.

His foot fell through the thatch just before he could take off. Raviathan spun and plummeted, the muddy earth slamming up to greet him. The dog tied at the back of the house went into hysterics. Mud seeped in through the cracks of his loose armor. Raviathan got to his feet, a little dazed but not too bad. His ankle didn't feel right though. Probably twisted it when he fell.

Brought by the sounds of the braying dog, two men appeared at the alley. Raviathan took off, hearing curses and calls from behind. He dashed west and back to the main street. Had to get to Duncan.

Halfway down the next alley, the rider blocked him. The horse and rider seemed too big, a great looming tower that blocked all light and escape. Raviathan slid to a halt, slipping in the mud. The rider came forward slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Panicked, Raviathan unsheathed his sword, swiping it at the horse's head. The horse reared up, as inescapable as an avalanche. His teeth bared, the horse's hooves struck out. An image flashed in Raviathan's mind, the woman crippled and scarred when a horse trampled her. Heart racing, Raviathan raced down the alley.

A man stepped out, but Raviathan didn't even pause. His sword flashed out catching his attacker in the stomach. An angry shout, followed by others, chased Raviathan down. Deciding the rider couldn't get to him if he were inside a home, Raviathan flung open the closest door and charged inside. Maybe he could find a doorway or hall so he wouldn't be flanked. A woman screeched, cowering away from him. The children stared as he ran through. Men shouted from outside.

Dashing through a hallway, Raviathan ducked into a room, closing the door quietly behind him. A nursery. Maker's blood. As if the world needed more shems. Spying a small window over the crib, Raviathan ran. Small, but so was he. No shems on the other side. The sleeping child didn't wake as he pushed the crib aside. Raviathan dropped his case out the window then hauled himself up. He got his head through when he was pulled back. He hadn't even heard them enter the room. Cursing, he tightened his grip and pulled, kicking back at empty air. He couldn't feel a grip. Glancing back, the room was still empty. What? Raviathan groaned when he realized his sword hilt had caught on the window. Of all the stupid...

The door opened behind him followed by more shouting.

"That knife ear is after my baby!" a woman shrieked.

Your baby? What in the world would I do with a giant shem baby? Raviathan scrambled out the window as the baby started to wail. A hand grasped him by the ankle, painfully strong, but a kick dislodged the cursing shem's hand. Raviathan fell on his back, grabbed his case, and headed towards the main street. Where in the Maker's name was Duncan? Surely the whole town was on alert by now.

Further down the tiny side road, Raviathan caught a glimpse of the horse and rider in front of the house he had just escaped along with a larger assortment of villagers who had come to help. Shouts rang out as he dashed to the next alley. Flames take me! Was there any way out of this? Put his back against a wall and fight it out? Fight the whole village until someone got a bow out and shot him? Couldn't outrun a horse. Fire? That had worked before. But the rain. And if there were children in the home who couldn't get out… What to do?

Raviathan dashed across the main street. The horse and rider appeared from the other side of the house on his right. The horse was faster than he, but not as agile. If he could get to the other side, he might be able to keep ahead by dodging through the houses. The villagers were charging behind him, so he had little choice.

In a mad rush, Raviathan dashed across the street. He heard the horse bray, hooves thudding in the mud. Raviathan slid and dodged back as the horse came at him. The rider tried to turn the horse, but Raviathan ducked under the sword slash and sprinted around the animal. The horse now shielded him from the villagers on the other side. Raviathan stumbled, scooped up a handful of mud, and threw it into the rider's face. Shocked and partially blind, the rider cursed, pulling the reins. The horse balked and reared, frightening the villagers from coming too close. When the beast stumbled, Raviathan nearly jumped out of his skin.

The attackers on foot were coming around, flanking him.

"Slippery little bastard, ain't he."

"Who'd have thought one little knife ear would cause this much trouble?"

Raviathan drew his weapons, backpedaling quickly to keep them from flanking. A child's voice called out, "Uncle William! Don't kill him!"

Raviathan glanced over to see Billy running up and waving his hands over his head. "Billy, get back to your home," Raviathan ordered, pointing with his dagger.

The men glanced at each other. The boy paid no heed, instead standing in front of Raviathan. The child had wide, frightened eyes, his mouth open, but he would not budge. "Billy," Raviathan hissed. "This is no place for you. Get back home!" He sheathed his dagger and pushed the child behind him. He jerked his sword when one of the original attackers neared to close.

"Billy," the rider said, warning in his voice. "Leave. Now."

The child gulped but would not budge. "Uncle, he cared for Ellison. He's a healer. On his way south to the army."

"South?" The attackers glanced at each other.

"Only Dalish carry weapons," the rider said to Raviathan.

"Dalish?" Raviathan stared at the man. They thought he was Dalish? So, not from Denerim on a mission of revenge. No wonder they knew the town so well. "I'm from the Denerim alienage."

"Uncle," Billy said, "I saw him. He figured out Ellison right quick. Made a potion for her and everything. Said he was con-script-id for the King's army."

The rider took Raviathan's measure. "Who's the Arl of Denerim?"

"Urien Kendells," Raviathan said without hesitation.

"William," one of the attackers said. "Anyone can know that."

"Who's the arl of South Reach?" The rider's gaze never wavered from Raviathan.

Raviathan shook his head.

"Arl of Dragon's Peak? Teyrn of Gwaren?"

"I don't know, ser."

"Elves don't follow human politics. Especially the Dalish. They can sometimes name the King and that's about it. Only city elves know the bann or arl that's over them." The rider sheathed his weapon, apparently satisfied.

"Then why'd he run?" one of the men asked.

"Because he," Raviathan said indicating the rider, "nearly took my head off with that sword. Pardon me for assuming you weren't going to listen at that point."

"You're a healer," the rider said.

"Yes, ser."

The rider gestured at his men. "Take him. We'll bring him back to the farmstead."

"What?" Raviathan backed up with his sword raised. "You can't just snatch me off the street." Maker curse these arrogant bastards. They had been prepared to run him through based on nothing more than an assumption. What qualms would they have about a little kidnapping.

"You think that's wise, William?"

"We need a healer. Old Beth can't do more than shake sticks and moan."

"You just tried to kill me," Raviathan squawked. "I don't even get an apology for that before you try to kidnap me?"

"Take him," the rider said, unimpressed.

Raviathan backed up, keeping Billy behind him. "No. I'm a Grey Warden. You've no right to attack me during a blight, let alone kidnap me."

One of the men snorted. "A Grey Warden? You?"

"We'll have none of you lies, knife ears."

"I'm here with Warden Commander Duncan. We're staying at the inn. Talk to him if you don't believe me."

One of the men who had been silent so far spoke up. "What if he's telling the truth?"

"A Warden knife ear? You off your head?"

The quiet one spoke again. "Darkspawn in the south. Rumors are this is a blight."

"Doesn't make him anything but a knife ear with a big mouth."

The rider wheeled the horse around, making the villagers shy away. "I said take him! We've got little enough time as it is."

"Now wait just one bloody second," Raviathan said, raising his sword to the men who approached. "I've said the truth. Send someone to the inn…"

The horse jumped forward. Startled, Raviathan shied away. The men were ready to take advantage of the distraction and knocked his sword aside. Before he could do more than yelp, Raviathan was hauled up. The rider's arm was like steel around his stomach, settling Raviathan firmly astride the horse. Gut fluttering from the horse's movement and height, Raviathan could do little more than clutch the shem's arm and curse his luck.


	21. Strange Bedfellows - Bloody Shems

The town sped by, unreal from the back of a moving animal. Raviathan felt sick, knocked about by the horse's odd gait. He had never so much as ridden in a wagon let alone atop any living creature. The horse's rocking made the height worse, less stable. Buildings, though higher, were at least stable, a perch where he had more control, a better sense of balance and distance. This was chaos and thudding about. The rider grunted when Raviathan slid and fell back hard. They didn't slow as the rider manhandled him into a firm position on his lap, his arm so tight around Raviathan's middle he could only manage shallow gasps. Between his lack of air and the frenzied ride, Raviathan felt like the world was starting to spin. "Let me go!"

The rider ignored him.

Raviathan started squirming as best he could, pushing against the rider's arm and kicking back ineffectually.

"Stop that! Fall, break your neck, and you won't be a help to anyone."

"Let me go!"

"Shut it." The rider tightened his arm until Raviathan was sure he was going to be cut in two parts.

"You shems think you own everything, can do what you want. You'd take the sun and wind for your own if you could."

"That's right. Now shut up."

Oh, what was the point, Raviathan thought. Instead of arguing, he tried to focus on the horizon as that seemed to settle his nausea. Not that he would mind throwing up on the rider, but he wasn't at a good enough angle to manage that without further dirtying up his already mud drenched clothes.

Panic seized him when they headed straight toward a fence. Maker, no. Visions of the horse's legs hitting the stone wall and the two of them catapulting over flashed into his mind. Broken bones and blood. The horse spinning from the impact, speed rushing the hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of horse on him, crushing. He felt the horse's muscles bunch beneath him, the rider press forward squeezing him between horse and human. The horse leapt, a motion that left Raviathan's stomach behind, and landed with an impact that jarred his teeth together. After that, Raviathan closed his eyes and willed his mind into oblivion.

The rider leaned back but did not lessen his grip around Raviathan's waist in the slightest. They slowed enough for the horse to make his way down a ditch, the rider moving back to keep his balance, his grip forcing Raviathan to do the same. Though secondary to his panic from the horse and sickening ride, the indignity of having his ass pressed tight into the shem's crotch mingled with his frustration.

All thought was left behind at the horse's next jump out of the ditch, a hop that turned Raviathan's stomach inside out. How much longer? The horse ran at a full gallop across the field, his labored breathing echoing off the near hills.

Anxiety could only freeze his thoughts for so long. Maker, how did he always seem to end up in these situations? What would Duncan think about what happened? Would Duncan be able to find him? The villagers and this shem were apparently on friendly terms. The villagers would most likely know where Raviathan was being taken, but that also meant they would be unlikely to help, too. What was the problem with shems? Every time he had been accosted, threatened, and now kidnapped, shems were always the source. True, he'd had run-ins with his fellows in the alienage, but never to the intensity he experienced when he was among shems.

His stomach clenched when the horse bunched beneath him yet again. The horse lurched up, and Raviathan was sure the horse's neck would have slammed into his face if the shem's grip hadn't been so tight.

Curse these shems. He was going to be sick.

A low sprawling farmstead squatted on the rise over a swollen creek. The shem, William, slowed his horse to traverse the creek, the cold water chilling Raviathan's feet. The cold felt good on his twisted ankle. As if Raviathan hadn't hated the ride enough, the horse stumbled up the steep bank, hooves clanking against stone as the beast skittered and hauled the three of them up. Raviathan's breath caught as he quickly chanted a prayer to the Maker when the horse slipped.

Head spinning, Raviathan breathed a limited sigh of relief when the ride finally ended at the farmstead door. The arm that had kept him so firmly ensconced during the ride now pulled him down. Raviathan twisted to try to land on his feet, but a stab of pain went through his ankle. He stumbled and fell backwards into a mud puddle.

All dignity gone, Raviathan tried to manage furious as he glared up at the shem. The horse had steam rising off his flanks. William was as moved by the glare as a rock would be.

"Inside you'll find a man. If he's still alive, you will treat him."

The rider wheeled his horse around, and no amount of glaring changed anything about Raviathan's situation. His butt wasn't going to get less cold sitting in a puddle. Slapping his hand against the water in frustration, Raviathan struggled to his feet and limped to the house with as much resentment as he could muster. What kind of Grey Warden gets knocked out at his own wedding or gets kidnapped by a mob of shems in a strange town? Raviathan pushed his hair out of his face, mainly succeeding in getting his hair muddy. Why in the Maker's name did Duncan have such faith in him?

A hearth fire burned on the other side of the door, adding warmth and light to the house. A middle aged woman who had been tending the fire stared at him when he entered. She wore a simple homespun, brown dress over her white shift. Little tendrils of fine brown hair had escaped from her bun. Thought of middle years, she had beautiful, unwrinkled skin for a shem.

"I'm a healer," Raviathan said, unwilling to keep the irritation out of his voice. "I was told there is a man in need of attention."

The woman put a hand to her chest. "You… you're a healer?"

"Yes," Raviathan said, sharper than he intended. "Your name?"

"Molly."

"I'm given to understand this is an emergency."

Without another word, the woman led him to a room, casting a backwards glance his way. Raviathan could smell old blood and the onset of infection before he entered. The unconscious man laying in the bed had large arms, a thick neck, and a barrel chest, typical of a man who did heavy labor for his keep. The wiry red bristles of his beard stood out against his pale, sweaty skin.

"Bandits," the woman said behind him, low so as not to disturb the sleeping patient. "Think they used poison on their blades."

"Why do you think they used poison?"

"He's feverish, sweaty. Can't stay awake and is confused when I try to wake him. Doesn't know where he is."

Raviathan turned around then made shooing motions at the woman when she didn't get out of the way.

"Wait," she said with rising desperation, "you're not going to leave?"

"I'm covered in mud. I need to clean up or I'm only going to make him worse. I need soap, strips of clean fabric, and boiling water."

She froze for a moment as she contemplated his list then left with an abrupt turn. "Water is on the fire. Was going to make soup, but I haven't added anything yet."

"Then I'll clean in that. Get me soap and another pot to boil. Cloth after that."

She nodded absently and hurried away. Settling in front of the fire, Raviathan pulled out his instruments first to clean, the finely edged steel glinting bright in the fire, then he pulled off his ruined cloak and armor. His cloak was still salvageable, but it would need to be cleaned and reoiled to be of use. Not going to happen in this rain. The week's marching ahead promised to leave him soaking and cold.

The woman slapped a lump of soap in his hand before running off to complete the other tasks he'd set for her. Raviathan stripped down to his pants. He would have changed if he could, or gone down to his small clothes if he was at home. The thought of home sent a brief stab of pain, and he wondered how his family and friends were doing. They had no one to heal their wounds or care for them anymore. What would Valendrian or the orphan keeper Venri do now? What would any of them do?

Raviathan peeled off his boots last. If he didn't take out his boot now, odds were good he wouldn't be able to get it off later after his ankle swelled. Damn shems.

Instruments and thread cleaned, Raviathan washed himself as best he could in the hot water. When the woman returned with a freshly ripped bed sheet, Raviathan said, "I need as many candles as you can spare to light the room." She nodded and hurried away. Raviathan took three strips to wrap his ankle. Sighing, he gathered his instruments and left to work on the shem.

~o~O~o~

Raviathan limped out of the room to sit by the fire. He rotated his neck, then his shoulders in an effort to release the tension that had built up over the hours of working on his patient.

Molly shot to her feet when he entered. "How is he?"

"You're his wife?"

She nodded.

"He's lost a lot of blood." Raviathan slumped in a chair next to the fire and rested his ankle on the stool to warm by the fire. "You're right about the poison. I've done what I could for that, but he'll need time before it works out of his system. Longer because of blood loss. And his wounds were infected. I'll make a potion for you to give him. His bandages need to be changed daily. Fresh, clean bandages. I've left a shunt to drain out his infection. You can take it out when fluid stops draining. About three or four days or so."

"So… will he heal?"

"I expect so. He's strong and very healthy. It'll take time, but he should be able to walk a bit in a few weeks. You might need to hire help in the spring for your farm, but he'll be right by harvest."

The woman sat back down, her tears silent save for a few demure sniffles.

"He'll be fine," Raviathan said, quiet in deference to the woman's relief. "A few new scars."

Molly put her head down, her shoulders shaking in halting jerks as if she was embarrassed by her emotion. "Aye, ser."

Raviathan blinked. That was the first time anyone had addressed him as 'ser'. "He really will be fine."

She nodded but said nothing, her head bowed. The fire let out a pop, but save for her tears and the rain, the room remained quiet and still.

Had they both been elves back in the alienage, Raviathan would have held her while she cried. Here, he just didn't know what to do. Human rules and conduct baffled him. Had he been asked, he would have helped that man, would have argued with Duncan had his mentor tried to deny him, not that Raviathan thought Duncan would have tried to stop him. But grabbing him off the street? After trying to kill him. The whole situation was beyond strange.

Templars had always been the reason for hiding before. Raviathan hadn't considered that humans would hunt him as a general rule. Perhaps Valendrian and his father's experience with humans had been at play in keeping his skills a secret in the past. But then, how do shem healers cope? Were they constantly under attack too? That crone, Old Beth, had not been a target, though only a fool would attempt to make use of that one.

Did the villagers understand Old Beth was a charlatan? Old Beth thought she had them fooled. She had been poisoning them with superstition for years now, but maybe these people did know the difference. If so, they would be desperate for a healer. Enough to kidnap an elf off the street based on the scant evidence of a child's word. The treatment of an ear infection to this man's near fatal wounds were leagues apart, but if there were no other options available, Raviathan could understand these people's desperation even if he didn't care for their methods.

Not for the first time, Raviathan worried about the people he had left behind. With the filth, poor nutrition, sewage issues that resulted in dirty water and dysentery, and that was ignoring illnesses caused from exposure or neglect, his kinsmen were in for rough times. Even though he had practiced covertly, Raviathan had still been able to head off wide spread disease with a few careful words of caution.

Children like Zacky were such fragile little souls. Would he survive the winter? Now that Raviathan was gone, the rest of the children's future became that much more precarious. In the past two years of practicing on his own, Raviathan had begun to understand Solyn's distance from her fellows. She loved her kin in the alienage. That fact had always remained clear. Raviathan knew few who could match her compassion. However, there always remained an invisible barrier between herself and all others save for that of her immediate family. One wall of separation had disappeared between them when he was five. Without noticing, she had pulled him across that line between healer and patient, so the two of them stood together with their fellows on the other side. Shems were a world unto themselves.

Though lonely, the barriers were a necessity. He knew that. The first time he had to diagnose a patient on his own, not having his aunt's experience to guide him from misstep, Raviathan knew what it was to be alone. There was no one to keep him from failing, no guiding hand who could take the brunt of consequence from him. When a patient got better or died, people looked at him. Whether they thanked the Maker for blessed health, blamed him for a death, or quietly accepted the fate of their loved one, whatever outside force they attributed to their health, he was the catalyst. Raviathan understood well enough the burden of another life.

Life.

For a moment, Raviathan's mind went blank of conscious thought. Images of blood flowing like a river on stone, black smoke hovering above like a vulture to snatch the weak, Nola's sightless grey eyes staring at her rapist—devoid of all the hate and pain that should be there. They had denied her even that. A splatter of blood on white legs. Not even allowed to feel our own pain. Not allowed to scream.

The door opened with a bang of wood against plaster. Raviathan tore his eyes away from the fire to find the shem who kidnapped him standing in the doorway. His eyes bore down on Raviathan. His gaze flicked down, taking in Raviathan's half clothed state, then turned to the crying woman.

"Well?" he addressed the room in general. The shem had a way of filling the doorway, making the room feel like half the size it had been a moment ago. Raviathan glared at him, his muscles tense, to run, fight, or both, he wasn't sure.

The woman broke the growing tension. "Says he'll live. Be hale by harvest."

Relief relaxed his features for an instant. He shouted the news to whoever was outside then came into the home to flop into the closest chair. He stretched his legs out, his boots adding fresh mud to the otherwise clean floor. Eyes closed, he ignored the glaring elf with ease.

"Well?" Raviathan demanded in a tone he hoped sounded as authoritative as this shem, the obvious leader of this community, and not at all petulant.

"Get the men a drink," William ordered. Raviathan's brows knit as Molly hurried off. Raviathan sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. He wished he could feel more annoyed than he did. He wished he could manage angry, especially at this shem's disregard, but the hours of surgery for a person in grave need had robbed him of much of his temper. Especially after the flight that morning, Raviathan felt tired more than anything else. Still, a certain fight if for no other purpose than his pride was in order. "So, am I to be held for ransom or will you at least parley with me?"

The shem snorted. "Parley?" One dark eye silted open to gaze at him, the hint of a grin playing at his mouth. Raviathan got the impression he was being laughed at. The man grunted, the humor fading away. "Your 'commander' was rather irritated by your disappearance."

"You mean kidnapping?"

"Don't get so dramatic."

The anger Raviathan had wanted started to boil. For the first time since he entered the room, he wondered what happened to his equipment. "Taken off the street against my protests… Damn shems." William raised his brows at the slur. "If you had asked, but no."

Dark eyes regarded him, the human's expression growing sharper. "You think elves are a mystery to me? I've known your kind. A tribe decides to move in, and what was acceptable hunting ground for families who can't afford to keep livestock is suddenly off limits. Our warning? Men strung up and left for the bears or to die with blood leaking out their faces. Don't start with me on fair."

"I said before. I'm not Dalish. The only time I've ever hurt one of your kind was in defense of myself or my people. It's like claiming you are personally responsible for the slavery of my people"

The man snorted. "But you do. I said before. Your kind aren't a mystery. You carry around your history, logging up all insults and wear it like armor."

"And that gives you the right to kidnap me?"

"Of course not. I just don't care."

Stunned by the admission, Raviathan sat back. The man let out a bark of laughter. "Lower your hackles. I'll take you back in a bit. Between bandits, Dalish, drought then flood, and the King's army taking too much of our winter reserves, the forcible use of a healer for one morning's work ranks low on my list."

Raviathan glared at the fire. Sap saturated wood popped, the embers a warm glow of hypnotic shifting colors. The smell of fire brought back memories of rooms overflowing with smoke. Cracking beams, blood heavy with metal, fear. Raviathan blinked, pushing down images that kept crawling back in still moments. He said quietly, "If you had asked…"

"Perhaps." William scratched his cheek, the rasp loud against his wild beard. "I didn't think you'd come willingly after being hunted as a Dalish through the streets. If you had a master, or commander as it were, I didn't want an added fight either. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Less blood too."

Raviathan tightened his arms across his chest. "Arrogant shem," he said, a whisper just above the sounds of rain and fire.

"That's right. I'm an arrogant bastard shem who abuses unsuspecting travelers who dare to enter my lands."

Raviathan huffed, slumping back further in his chair to stare at the fire. For so many years he had feared templars. He had seen Solyn's body, knew exactly how they had broken her. The memory of that day had been burned into his mind, seared again after seeing the shems abuse a dead virginal girl only days ago. Templars were still a very real threat. Raviathan made up his mind to talk with Duncan about the problem templars might cause, now that Duncan would know how much of a threat shems were to him. How much to say though? Solyn's death was a memory he did not relish retelling; however, Duncan had been nothing but patience and calm council. Would knowing how she died be enough, or would he dismiss Raviathan's very real fears even after the evidence of this day?

Raviathan rubbed his forehead as he ran through possible ways to explain, objections Duncan would have and how to counter them. When he looked up, he found the shem smirking at him. Raviathan glowered back.

"Why are you half naked?"

Of all the ways to phrase that! "I was covered in mud. I didn't want to risk infection. Especially since I'm not staying to care for him."

"Brave words, that. What if I hadn't been willing to let you go?"

"Doesn't matter what you want. You'd only be able to detain me for so long."

"Ho-ho." The shem's face brightened with increased interest. He leaned forward, his grin becoming more predatory. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Raviathan said, glaring back, though he felt worry rising up in him as he took note of the wolfish aspect to the shem's expression. What was wrong with this man?

"I might change my mind about keeping you."

The shem looked like he was ready to lunge, intention written in every line of his body. Raviathan tensed to bolt if the man so much as twitched. "I'm not a cock rider."

The shem's smile widened, a slash of white in his dark bristles. With exaggerated slowness, he leaned back. Raviathan did not take his focus away for a second.

"No? Your master seemed rather put out."

"He's not my master. And we're not lovers."

The shem laughed, a hard derisive bark of sound, sharp to Raviathan's ears. "What's he waiting for?" Leering, the shem leaned forward. In response, Raviathan pushed as far back into the chair as he could. William's voice was a growl, his presence overbearing. "If he hasn't grabbed you yet, it's only because he's never been with an elf before. And you, elf, are a cock rider. You just don't know it yet. The way that ass of yours thumped in my lap, over and over…"

"You're disgusting."

He laughed. "Take your first cock, and you'll present like a bitch in heat, just like every other elf who said they weren't a cock rider."

Raviathan brought his knees to his chest. He felt sick, wanting nothing more than to get out of this place and away from this horror of a man.

"Does it hurt?"

Raviathan frowned. "What hurt?" He was sure he was setting himself up for some disgusting line. Perhaps if he had stayed at the docks for another few months, he'd have developed an automatic witty retort to stop the expected crudeness, but they day had been too strange, this shem was too strange, for him to produce anything resembling brilliant.

"Your ankle."

"What?" Raviathan looked back at his bandaged foot. "I twisted it. I'm fine now."

"Indeed." The shem loaded enough innuendo in the single word to make Raviathan's face burn.

"Stop these games!" William threw back his head in a full belly laugh. Raviathan stood, paced across the room. Where in the Maker's name were his weapons? He could take one of the fire irons to the shem's head, would serve the bastard right too, but what then? His fellows were outside ready to skewer a single elf for the entertainment value alone. Raviathan had no idea where he was or how to get back to Duncan. Didn't even know the name of the village he was taken from. Helpless. Not completely, but near enough that he wouldn't risk his odds unless he had to. So far, the shem had done nothing more than try to provoke him . Why, Raviathan had no idea. Frustrated, Raviathan balled his hands into fists. His eyes burned. Oh dear Maker, don't you dare cry now. Not now in front of this man. "I've done nothing to you. I even saved your friend. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Is this what Grey Wardens are? Weak, little elves who can't even defend themselves? That last sounded pathetic, even to himself. Leave him alone? When did shems ever leave them alone? Duncan would have to admit his mistake now. Did that mean he would be sent to the gallows after all? Duncan wouldn't do that to him. Tell him to run off to the Dalish? Maybe.

The shem wasn't laughing anymore. William stood, watching. When he took a step forward, Raviathan stepped back, keeping their distance. If the shem did close the gap, what could Raviathan do? Fight him? The shem was bigger, stronger, armed and armored. Raviathan didn't even have a shirt let alone boots. They knew the territory. He didn't. Running would be next to impossible. But this wasn't the first time Raviathan had dealt with these kinds of odds. He had survived before. If the shem pushed, Raviathan would show the man what happened when shems went too far.

Raviathan scanned the room without taking his eyes off the shem. Furniture to dodge behind or throw. This man was invested in his people. If Raviathan dove for the fire, scattered the embers, the shem would take care of that first, long before the fire could get out of control to harm his sleeping patient. The iron poker was a crude weapon, but something he could use. Run? Or find his equipment first? Would need another distraction for the men outside. Rain, mud, animals. How could he use those? How many men were out there? How prepared were they for a chase? Dogs? Would he have dogs sent on him? Every human seemed to have at least one. Harming a dog would be sure to make the villagers see red.

The shem raised his arms away from his body, placating. When he took a step forward, Raviathan took another step back, his hand jerking. He wanted to grip the wooden chair back, to be ready to throw it, but he didn't want to show his intention to his enemy either. From the expression in the shem's face, Raviathan knew he had let his tactic be shown. Surprise wasn't on his side anymore.

Why? Why can't they just leave me alone? His heart called out for Nesiara. Gone. She was gone because of men like this. Because they just wouldn't leave them alone. Raviathan felt like his heart was being crushed. She was gone. Everyone he loved was getting further and further away with each day, each step towards the violence in the south. Ness was gone and his ache for her was as real as his heart beating too fast in his chest.

The door opened, and Raviathan took advantage of the shem's split second of distraction. He hurled the heavy chair, twisting his body to put as much force as he could into the throw. He kicked a table at the door, heard muffled curses from the other side.

What chance did he have? Burn the house so he could run? Raviathan dove around the shem, grabbed the poker and shovel by the fire. He turned, brandishing the poker like a sword, the shovel thrust into the fire ready to scatter embers.

"Come near me and I'll throw the fire. The thatch will catch. All this wood. Your man will burn to death."

The quiet shem from that morning crept into the room, wide-eyed. His features were large and long. "William?" he asked, his calm voice contrasting with the alarm on his face. "What exactly has been going on here?"

Raviathan jerked, the poker wavering, when the two men moved further into the room. "My equipment. I want my equipment. Then let me go." Part of Raviathan's mind knew that he was panicking. If this came to a fight, he wouldn't be able to control himself. Control won in a fight, his only hope to battle those who were stronger.

The men continued to stare at him. What could he do? What were his options? He'd have to burn the house. Otherwise, they'd just overwhelm him with numbers as they had done before. Molly hadn't done him harm. She would be the one damaged with her home ruined in winter. And his patient. Maybe his patient was another murderous shem, but that man was still his patient. If Duncan was here, at least he'd have a second set of arms, a person to help guard his blind side. What to do?

"Stay away!" Raviathan twitched, his grip on the shovel tightening. "I swear to the Maker, I will burn this house down if you don't let me go."

"Easy," William said. At least he wasn't laughing anymore.

"William," Molly called from the entrance. "What did you do?"

"Me?"

Molly gave him a look. "Don't even try with me. He was calm when I left. What did you do?"

"I was only trying to take the piss out of him."

"No one gets like that from a bit of heckling," the quiet one said.

"I swear," William said, his arms raised.

The quiet one sighed, his shoulders slumped. "Go. See to the horses. You've done enough here."

William drew himself up, his face hardened as if he had been insulted. He glanced back at Raviathan, a long look, then left.

"My equipment. Then let me go." Raviathan wanted to crawl up in some dark corner and sleep, pretend this day had just been a bad dream. He wanted to pretend the last week hadn't happened. Let me wake up, find Ness snuggled in my arms like she should be. Like we were meant to be.

"I cleaned your clothes and armor," Molly said, shoulders slumped, her face tight in a long suffering countenance, like a mother with a misbegotten child. "Dried them by the fire then put them away. Thought you might stay a bit. I'll get them." She left down the hall.

The quiet one kept his hands in view. He moved with care, putting the table and chair to right. Molly returned with an armful. She glanced at Raviathan for permission. He pointed to a spot on the floor with the poker. He watched the two, unmoving, until Molly took the other man by the arm and led him off.

His armor and boots were clean, his clothes smelling of soap. The ruined cloak was clean with a fresh sheen from a new coat of oil. Raviathan slumped. Defeat wore at him. How in the Maker's name was he supposed to fight in a war? This world of humans wasn't any place for him.

Dressed, Raviathan left the house. He didn't care anymore that he didn't know where he was. Rain pelted the ground, and he knew he would regret not asking for directions when he was lost in the night, but right now, he just wanted to get away.

At the sound of hoof beats behind him, Raviathan shied away.

"Come on," William said. "Said I'd take you back."

Raviathan ignored him. They had crossed the creek, so that direction was a start. There had to be a bridge. Through the grey haze of rain, Raviathan spied a simple plank bridge behind the house past the creek bend. While there was no sun to help give him a sense of direction, Raviathan guessed the last fence the horse had jumped would be the right general direction.

"Don't be stubborn. You're going to get lost."

The bridge vibrated with the heavy sound of hooves.

So, double back. How far away were they? Maybe if he could find the main road he and Duncan had traveled? Ask directions from a farmstead? He still didn't know the name of the town. They hadn't passed many villages the day before, so perhaps asking for the closest inn would be helpful.

Leather creaked followed by the shem's boots hitting mud. Tension pulled Raviathan's shoulders tight.

"Farmers see you walking through their fields, and you'll be dodging bolts. A Dalish tribe moved through recently on their way north. Caused a bit of ruckus, what with the raids and all."

"I'm not Dalish."

"So, he speaks!"

The fence was much taller than Raviathan thought from his view on horseback. The stones were old and weathered. They jutted out which made for easy grips, but the loose stone would also fall away with minor pressure.

"Do you think they'll ask you if you're Dalish first? Did we?"

Raviathan put a hand on the stone, testing it. Odds were good he could scramble over. Would the farmers shoot him? If a mob of men were willing to kill him for walking through a village, likely the farm holders would also shoot first. But he could be anyone. A neighbor's still growing child. Was the shem playing on his fears to embarrass him into another ride? And all the fun that ride might imply? "Where's the main road?"

The horse let out a loud whinny, his lips pulled back to expose large, blocky teeth. Raviathan took a few steps back, stumbling on a fallen stone.

William thumped the horse on the nose. The horse huffed from great lungs, his head going high.

"You're a skittish one," William said, addressing the elf.

"I don't like horses."

William studied him, contemplative as he hadn't been before. "Look. It's too long to walk on a twisted ankle. I'll hitch him to a cart. Take you back. Proper like."

"I don't want anything from you!" Raviathan yelled, surprising himself with the unexpected flare of anger. "Tell me where the road is and how to get back or leave me be!"

Rain poured down in waves. William stared at him, water dripping from his hawkish nose. Judging from the hardened expression on the shem's face, Raviathan tensed to dodge a punch. William pulled hard on the reins, the horse's head jerking up in surprise. He wheeled about and led the horse back to the farm.

Testing each hand hold, Raviathan picked his way over the fence, his healer's bag banging his side. Raviathan scanned the field. No farm house. Grey rain obscured his view beyond a few hundred feet. I'm going to get lost. I'll probably get shot. Raviathan put his head down and decided now was the perfect time to indulge in a little self pity. He trudged across the field, the mud sucking at his boots. Maybe he'd get shot. Maybe he'd get lost—more lost than he already was—freeze during the night and turn into an elf-cicle. Bloody shems.


	22. Strange Bedfellows - Of Humans and Shems

A bloody sunset lit the underside of rain heavy clouds, tinting them a shade of bruised purple. Raviathan's feet ached with cold. The cart jostled back and forth, enough that he never felt stable. At least the plodding, sleepy ox pulled the cart at a placid gait. The beast may have more mass, but it didn't have the quick, out of control power a horse did. Raviathan wanted to close his eyes, just to rest a moment, but the cart kept shaking him. He must have dozed at some point because he didn't realize they had reached the village until the cart stopped.

"Thanks," Raviathan said.

"Thanks to you, ser." The human held out a hand, which Raviathan took, surprised by the gesture. "Now, I know this ain't much…"

Raviathan waved away the pouch. "Ride was enough."

"Nonsense, ser. I'm in a position where I've got no cause for accepting charity."

Raviathan considered. He'd never taken coin for his work before. Wasn't this exactly what he was considering before he was recruited into the Wardens? To become a paid healer, taking in humans to subsidize the work he'd do for the elves? "Thank you."

The man nodded. "Twice a day, you said?"

"For two weeks. Should clear up by then."

"Aye."

Duncan appeared at the doorway. Surprised, Raviathan dropped from the cart to the ground harder than he intended. His ankle gave the barest twinge. "D-Duncan?"

The warrior's sword was out, wrath pinned on the driver as he strode forward.

"No. No, wait," Raviathan said, hands out on Duncan's chest. "He didn't do anything. Just gave me a ride back."

Duncan spared a glance at Raviathan before returning his glare at the frightened farmer. Duncan nodded once, sheathed his sword, then put a protective arm around Raviathan's shoulders to lead him back to the inn.

"Bath or food first?"

Considering his last meal had been breakfast, and the bath would take some preparation, Raviathan chose the meal.

"Bann Harrin's knights are here," Duncan said. "They have some questions for you." At Raviathan's pained look, Duncan explained, "So they know what happened is all. You're a Grey Warden, Rav. Any act against a Grey Warden during a blight is treason. Ser Finnian will make his report to the bann. If you'd like, I'll be there."

"Yes, I'd appreciate that."

With a squeeze on Raviathan's shoulder, Duncan left to order their meal then returned. Ser Finnian had thin, red hair that hung to the sides of his head making his ears seem overlarge. The long lines of his face ended in a long, pointed chin. He looked completely average to Raviathan. Could be another dock worker, had the knight been in home spun rather than armor. "Is this your charge, Warden?"

"Yes," Duncan replied. Raviathan was thrown by Finnian's high, gentle voice. This was a knight? Two other knights, both still in the last years of their teens, came to attention. Their shields had the same split heraldry, a black tree on a gold background under a black lion against grey.

The head knight turned to Raviathan, and gave him a small bow with his arms crossed over his chest. "Well met, ser. I am Finnian, knight of Bann Harrin who is under the Southron Arling. Always an honor to meet one of the Grey, though I wish this were under more pleasant circumstances."

Raviathan blinked. How was he supposed to respond to that? Bowed to by a human? And there was that 'ser' again. "Um… thanks."

The knight straightened. If he was put out by Raviathan's lack of etiquette, he had more grace than to show it. "Would you speak of what happened then?"

After the knight's bow and ceremony, Raviathan felt even more ridiculous recounting the chase through the streets. Grey Warden, indeed.

"Why did they attack you?"

"Thought I was Dalish at first. I told them I was with the Grey Wardens, that they could confirm that with Duncan. They thought I was lying. The brother of an ill child I saw to this morning told them I was a healer. That's when William took me."

"Were you injured, ser?"

"Um, no."

"From the witnesses I spoke with, they said you were limping."

"I twisted my ankle when I fell off the roof, but I'm fine now."

"Why were you taken?"

"By William? He wanted me to heal a man injured by bandits."

"How did you escape?"

"I didn't escape. He was going to bring me back when I finished, then he..." Raviathan felt his face grow hot. "He propositioned me. I decided it would be best if I made my own way, but I guess news that I'm a healer traveled. When a farmer saw me crossing his field, he offered to drive me here if I saw to his family."

"You said Lord William propositioned you?"

Lord William? Maker's ass. What was it with shem lords? Raviathan crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched. "How explicit do you need me to be? Said he was joking when the others came in." One of the young knights looked him up and down, but the other kept his gaze steady. Raviathan glared at the one who had ogled him. Ogled. Raviathan felt dirty.

"Do you know which farmstead he took you to?"

"No idea." Raviathan shrugged. "Near a creek. Wife of the injured man is named Molly."

Finnian gave a thoughtful nod. "Did Molly know your position?"

"That I'm a Grey Warden recruit, or that I was kidnapped?"

The knight's mouth quirked. "Both."

"I didn't tell her about either, so no? I went to work on her husband."

"Why didn't you say anything? Who you are or your circumstances?"

"What would it change? The sh… her husband needed healing. It was an emergency."

"Did Sean know?" At Raviathan's puzzled expression, Finnian clarified. "The man you healed."

"He was unconscious the whole time. When the poison starts working out of his body, he may be delusional for a day, but you can speak with him after that. So, you knew where I was taken then?"

"I was not sure," Finnian replied. "There have been multiple attacks on the western boarders of Harrin's land. Bandits and a tribe of Dalish moving north. A number of farmsteaders have suffered injuries, and our lands have been without a proper healer for years, which has made some freemen rather… desperate. When I questioned the villagers, all of whom were agog at the news a healer was passing through, I opined you would be safe enough, which I explained to your Commander," Finnian said casting a quick glance at Duncan. "You might be overworked, perhaps, but few would risk injuring such a valued resource, particularly now."

Valued resource, Raviathan thought resentfully. As if he were a prized ox.

Finnian continued at his silence. "Were you paid for your services?"

Raviathan hesitated. "I've never asked for payment before."

The knight's focus sharpened. "Don't charge? But didn't you state you were a healer?"

"I'm… I worked for my alienage. They couldn't afford to pay me."

"Couldn't afford?" The knight narrowed his eyes, mystified. "How then did you live, ser?"

"I was a dock worker." Raviathan looked down, embarrassed by his station in front of these men.

All of the knights' full attention was on him now. One of them scoffed. "From dock worker to Grey Warden? That's quite the promotion. Whose cock did yo-" A clank of metal sounded as his fellow elbowed him in the side.

Finnian turned, very slowly, and strode to the younger man. His words were too low for Raviathan to hear what was said, but from the look on the younger knight's face, Raviathan would have paid money to hear what went between them. When finished, Finnian turned back to Raviathan, giving him a deep bow. "Ser. My deepest apologies for the slight. Such words are most unbecoming, a sentiment not fit for present company."

"Uh," Raviathan stopped himself from taking a step back. Everything about this was off. "Ser, um, Finnian. You gave no insult. Please, don't, uh, bow."

"My charge spoke out of turn. As he is my charge, his behavior is a reflection upon myself. I have not been thorough enough in his education if he feels free to disrespect a man of your station. His failure is mine, for which I accept responsibility. Ser, please forgive this slight."

Alarmed, Raviathan looked back up at the young knight. Brown hair and wide features, the young knight's cheeks glowed red, his gaze locked on the floor. If he were any random elf, Raviathan would have been nothing to these men. He thought he should feel honored. Vindicated at least. This is how people should behave. Respectful. Wasn't this what he had wanted from humans? Some basic courtesy, the same courtesy they showed one another?

Instead, Raviathan felt hollow. Not a week ago, these same men would have call him knife ear, propositioned him with little regard for his protests, allowed a lord to steal women to be raped. Raviathan was no different, no better than he had been a week ago when guards, knights, and nobles took what they wanted without a thought to the dignity of his people. Instead of reveling in the manners his station now demanded, Raviathan felt even dirtier. Like a pretender. Not only was he not a Grey Warden yet, the manners of these men were a simple courtesy of Raviathan's new station, not how they would truly behave if their trappings of nobility were stripped away. We're all pretenders here.

"Please," Raviathan said, unable to look at any of them now. "Your apology is unnecessary."

"You are too gracious, ser." Finnian straightened. "But this does bring me to my next question. Would you accept a formal apology from Lord William?"

"Apology?" Raviathan folded his arms over his chest. "No. Not from him."

Regarding Raviathan with a thoughtful tilt of his head, Finnian said, "For injuries to your person, such a settlement is common."

Raviathan lifted his chin up. "He said 'better to apologize than ask for permission'. His words mean nothing to me."

When Raviathan caught Finnian's weary expression, a look he had seen often in Valendrian, he knew this man didn't pretend at his code. Understanding flashed through Raviathan's mind as he studied the knight. Just a man, like any other, and yet his bearing set him apart, like a diamond among glass stones. Raviathan's own bitterness was getting in the way of seeing that fact because it was easier to be angry. He had needed that anger to keep him moving when he wanted to give up, but anger was blindness as much as strength.

Knights, lords, and pretenders. Were they really not as synonymous as Raviathan had always assumed? Ser Finnian's code was bound to his identity, as much as a spirit to the body it inhabited. William didn't pretend to live by a code at all. The man was what he was, without apology. As much as Raviathan detested what William had done, that shem had no pretentions of being someone different. The only pretender in this room was a little dock worker who thought he was a Grey Warden.

"Ser Finnian? If you don't mind, I have some questions."

"Certainly, Warden. How may I be of service?" The knight regarded him with polite interest.

Raviathan paused. Warden. He was still called Warden. That threw him as much as the knight's respect. Even his phrasing, 'how may I be of service', struck Raviathan. "Uh. Well, um, what can you tell me of Lord William?"

"I have met the man but a few times, so I do not know much beyond reputation. He was freeborn, but fostered at Gwaren as reward for some service, marshaling the town against a hostile neighbor, if memory serves. He was trained and awarded lordship and lands upon return. He is known for having a good reputation with the Dalish, who camp near here. How he gained their trust enough to negotiate with them, I do not know. My own opinion is that he is on the rough side but loyal to his people. Crafty."

Finnian hesitated. "I do not know if I am surprised by this incident or not. He has never been one for the finer points of noble behavior. Lord William does what he thinks needs to be done without regard for the consequences, but he has a reputation for upholding the rights of elves."

"What will happen? To William and Molly?"

"The bann will decide, of course. Anything I say is mere supposition. Based on what I know of Bann Harrin, Molly will need to plead her case, but since she was not an active participant, she will be left alone. Same with Sean. Could be they will have time added to their indenture. The villagers here knew William was involved; however, their silence on this matter will mean censure for the village. Additional taxes, or, more likely, more time added to their yearly work on Harrin's farms. Then, of course, the penalty for aiding in an attack on a Grey Warden who made his identity known is a serious offense."

Finnian pursed his lips as he thought. "William is a trickier case for me to predict. Bann Harrin likes William—has as let the man get away with more than most would have in the same circumstances, but with the King's favor of the Grey Wardens, this may be a slight of honor that cannot be so easily forgiven. Especially since he has added to his offenses."

"Added how?" Raviathan asked.

"To your person," Finnian answered in surprise. "You said he propositioned you."

Raviathan's brow knit as he considered. "But if Molly and Sean had nothing to do with it, why will they be punished?"

"They may not have known, but that does not excuse they have a part in this crime."

"That doesn't seem fair. Could I… I don't know. Write a letter on their behalf? Or something?"

Finnian gave him a nod. "A plea from the injured party would help their case."

Raviathan pondered the knight's speech. He could guess well enough at the man's meaning, but the knight's jargon left him wondering about the codes magistrates used. "I'm not sure how to phrase such a letter."

"I would assist you," Finnian offered, his gentle voice becoming softer. "With the storm, we will need to stay the eve, so we could do this at your convenience."

"Okay, then."

"Then we are settled. Your day must have been trying, indeed. I would not delay you from your meal. At your convenience, we shall draft a letter and finish any remaining business. "

Duncan gave Finnian a nod then led Raviathan to their waiting meal. "This day's been quite the adventure for you." Duncan sounded angry, though he kept it in check.

They found a booth in a dark corner, giving them privacy. Raviathan didn't say anything as he stared at the pastry mold that was his supper. Instead of eating, he put his hands in his lap, head bowed, ready for his lecture.

"Eat up." Duncan already had the wolf's share of the buttered parsnips, mashed turnips, and rye bread.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Not mad." He broke his own pastry mold to allow steam to escape. Raviathan was surprised that someone with his appetite had waited. "Not at you anyway. But we can't have this anymore. Every inn we've been to, there's been some sort of trouble. Tarimel's had problems, but nothing like this."

"Tarimel?"

"Our other elven Warden."

There was another elf? "Why didn't you tell me there was another elf?"

"Does it matter? A Warden is a Warden." Duncan glanced at him, a sly glint in his gaze.

A little tease, but it was enough to let Raviathan know he wasn't in trouble. "Ha ha." Tension eased from his shoulders now that his worries were over. Inside the mold was a stuffed pike, a rare meal served to those who could afford such luxuries. Spiced apple cider graced Raviathan's meal instead of water. Why had Duncan decided on such a costly meal?

The worries that shem lord instilled left. Duncan wasn't mad, but more importantly, Raviathan knew Duncan was nothing like William. That 'lord's' words didn't have any weight over him, not anymore. "I don't know what to say, Duncan. I don't know how I could have prevented anything that happened today other than make sure I have an escort."

"That won't do. Today has been unusual, to be sure, but every inn? How did you get around Denerim?"

"Elves travel in groups. Especially after Arl Urien left with most of his guards. I got picked on outside of the alienage. Daily at the docks." Raviathan chewed his lower lip. "I think… I'm not sure, but I think since there were more elves in Denerim, I wasn't so exotic. Since we've left Denerim, I haven't seen many elves. A few working in a field, but none in a town. What's Tarimel like?"

"He's from a hamlet near Gwaren. He's had a hard life, so he keeps to himself. I can guess at bits, but as a matter of courtesy, Wardens don't pry into each other's pasts. Why would you be more of a target if there are fewer elves?"

Raviathan gave a one shouldered shrug that was more casual than he felt. Though he kept his eyes on his food, he could feel Duncan watching him, waiting. Sighing, Raviathan lowered his fork. "Duncan, I don't know much beyond my alienage. This… this whole world… it's like going to a different country. All the rules are different. What I know is that if an elf isn't living in an alienage or isn't living with a noble family as part of their work, they're a whore. Most elves who lived outside the alienage only did so because they were kicked out. There might be some way for them to eke out a living, but most became whores. That's how most humans came in contact with elves in a city, so when we were outside the alienage, that's what we were assumed to be. Not always, but that was pretty common. That… that man, William." Raviathan's cheeks felt hot. "He'd been with an elf before. The things he said… I don't know who he's been with, or how. But I've no doubt there are elves around here who are being used."

"That would explain why you've been such a target, but we still need to find some strategies to minimize the danger you keep finding yourself in."

Raviathan nibbled at his lip. "What about something official to show I have rank? Like a Grey Warden badge?"

Duncan paused to look the elf over. The boy's cloak and blanket turned poncho hid his weapons while making him appear more like a passing laborer than a warrior. "When we have time, perhaps at Ostagar, we'll get you some true fitted armor. With a seal." Duncan's smile flashed. "You'll have to learn how to mingle among the nobles and knights."

Raviathan snorted. He nibbled his lip before he broached the next subject. "Duncan. Did you know Solyn? My aunt?"

"Adaia's sister? I never met her, but Adaia spoke of her once. If memory serves, Valendrian said she was killed."

"Do you know how?"

"I'm sure Valendrian said, but I don't remember."

With a quick glimpse around the room to make sure his words would only be between them, Raviathan said, "She was murdered. Valendrian organized searches when she disappeared. It took a week to find her. Duncan, you've seen how I've been treated outside the alienage. You know elves are a target. My people may not be slaves anymore, but that mentality, that we're less than humans, is still pervasive. Even in Ferelden. After she died, my skill as a physician was kept secret. Thing is, everyone knew I had been her apprentice. They had already seen me working, knew what I was capable of. But we all sort of knew to keep it quiet."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because… because we need to take precautions. Duncan, if you still want me as a Warden, I'll serve. I've no complaints about that. But… well, how am I going to be of use? You said it yourself. I seem to get in danger all the damn time."

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder, and Raviathan felt his eyes prick with tears. Duncan's voice, low and calm, was as comforting as Nesiara's embrace. "Outfitting you as a Grey Warden will help. You're right about that. Rav, you just need time. I've mentored many Warden recruits over the years. In a few months, a year at most, you'll see."

Raviathan took Duncan's hand in both of his, squeezing tightly. He couldn't keep his eyes on anything but the old warrior's calloused hand. The early stages of arthritis knotted his joints. Careworn hands. Strong. "Duncan, she was raped. They," Raviathan took a deep breath, "they used a knife. When I found her… Maker. It was one of the worst moments of my life. Dried blood covered her thighs. She was so dignified. Educated. Patient. The way she held herself… she was regal. They left her naked, hidden under garbage. I found her because it was summer. She'd been left there for a week. The only reason I found her was because… because she started… to rot." Raviathan stopped when a sob jerked his chest. "She didn't deserve that. Be bruised. Humiliated. Broken."

"Why?" Duncan's voice was a calm whisper. "Why did they do that? Do you know who?"

"We think…" Raviathan bit his lips. He squirmed not able to look at anything for long. "She had human patients. We think one of them turned her in. Templars were seen near where I found her body. The day she disappeared."

"Templars? Rav, you can't think…"

"What?" His head shot up, hands tight enough that Duncan winced in his grip. "That a single elf on their own isn't a target?"

Duncan gently loosened Raviathan's grip. "I don't want to make light of this. I can see how painful telling me about her is, but templars don't chase down physicians."

As Raviathan expected, Duncan wouldn't believe him, even with the story. "Duncan, please. I saw what they did to her. You saw, you know, what happened at the alienage. What happened to me today. Elves just don't have the same rights. And templars aren't always reasonable." Raviathan took a breath to steady himself. "They hear the barest rumor of an apostate, and that person disappears." He forced himself to keep Duncan's gaze. "Please? Please just think about what I've said? This… this whole world. It's a different place for me than it is for you. I need you to try and understand that."

Though Duncan didn't look convinced, Raviathan could see he was at least considering. That shem lord was an idiot. Screw him. Duncan was a good man.

"Finish your meal, then go get cleaned up. It's been a hard day for you. We'll talk more of this later, when you're not so exhausted, and when things aren't so close to the surface."

"You'll think about what I've said?"

"Yes." Duncan squeezed his hands back for emphasis.

Taking a deep breath, Raviathan forced himself to calm. Food took the edge off his exhaustion. Heat from the bath eased the tension that had been making his shoulders ache. He meditated in the bath, going through mental exercises so that he could distance himself from the day, from the memories of Solyn.

"Ser?"

As Raviathan left the bathing room, a serving girl interrupted his reverie. He raised his eyebrows in polite interest.

"Wanted to say sorry. When we found out William had taken you… Well, Billy said it was for a healing. We knew you'd be safe if that's what he'd taken you for. But if Finnian went for you… Couldn't risk one of our countrymen. Maker's breath, but we could sorely use your skills. But promise, we didn't think you'd be in any real danger."

Raviathan didn't have anything to say in response. He murmured acknowledgment but otherwise remained silent.

"Your… ah, Commander, he was off finding a place for you to train. When he came back, found out what happened… Ah. Just… sorry."

Why was the girl so nervous? "I'm not happy about it, but I appreciate your apology."

"Ah," the girl relaxed. "I'm Selice," she said but it sounded more like a question the way she inflected her name. "Innkeeper is my father. If… if you're willing… many folks have come by asking for you."

"Asking for me?" What was it now? Did he and Duncan have to sneak away in the night?

"Just… if… well, your Commander said you'd be here another day. Would… well, would you be willing to see to them?"

"As a physician? I… need to talk to Duncan." Then Raviathan thought about Old Beth. "No, I don't. I'll see to anyone who wants to come. Whether they have coin for my services or not."

Her smile, genuine and relieved, brought charm to an otherwise plain face. The image of her smile remained with Raviathan when he returned to the main room. Just a little courtesy was all he asked for.

"You are looking much better, Warden," Finnian greeted him as Raviathan sat at his table. The knight put aside the report he had been working on, then brought out a fresh vellum for Raviathan. The two worked on the letter, Finnian patiently explaining all the legal jargon, which frustrated Raviathan as much as fascinated him.

"What is the purpose of using language that's so far beyond how people speak? Seems like it's meant to befuddle anyone who seeks justice at court."

"A fair assessment," Finnian said with a smile. "At times the terminology is confusing, but there are reasons for everything. Legal language is coded because the law demands precision. A balance must be made between writing a law that is defined enough that it is clear, while remaining universal so as to be applicable to many cases."

Raviathan scanned the report of the incident, testing his new understanding of legal protocols, asking when he needed clarification. While he didn't understand every word, and some terms took him a few seconds to recall, the report wasn't the mystery it would have been an hour ago. "Finnian, why did you believe me?"

"Should I not have?" Finnian asked, his interest piqued.

"I spoke the truth, but how did you know?"

"You are a Grey Warden. Your word has value."

"Nobles are supposed to have value, but they lie. Hide their true fortunes or dalliances."

"True," Finnian said, stretching the word out. "However, when you recounted the chase, even including the rather inglorious moments," Finnian smiled to remove any sting from his words, "the details matched what I had already learned from the townsfolk."

"Did William come back to the village?"

"I did not see him."

"He said Duncan was upset."

Though Finnian kept his features carefully under control, Raviathan saw humor dance beneath the knight's calm surface. "'Upset' is a bit of an understatement. I will say I am glad the man was not out for my head."

"What did he do?"

A smile touched Finnian's eyes, though his mouth remained straight. "When I had arrived, with haste mind you, based on the panicked tales of a few villagers, your Commander had taken three of the men who attacked you hostage, their lives forfeit if any harm befell you. The others he let go in order to take that message to William."

Duncan did that? Raviathan held his breath, fortifying himself before he spoke. "I want to retract my accusation that William propositioned me."

"Ser?"

"He's a bully. He was needlessly cruel. But, upon reflection, I think he was only trying to get a rise out of me."

"Perhaps," Finnian prompted gently, "if you could give me some specifics?"

"Told me I was a cock rider. That all elves are. He joked that he didn't want to let me go."

"I admit I'm surprised that he would say such things about you or your people considering his relations with the Dalish, and yet I am not surprised considering his person." Finnian considered. "Then the charge should change to conduct unbecoming of a lord."

"That's a crime?"

"Oh, yes. Not one that is enforced as much as it should be, but a crime nonetheless."

Raviathan bit his lips. "Would you treat me with the same respect if I were not a Warden recruit?"

Again, Finnian took his time to consider. He spoke carefully, "You have been often wronged, so I understand your distrust. Many of the manners Fereldan lords have are a holdover from the Orlesian indoctrination during the occupation. In Orlais, respect is only required of those of equal station or above. This attitude has unfortunately affected a fair number. Personally, I find such affectations sycophantic, a degradation that weakens the Ferelden spirit. That being said, while I have not always behaved as well as I should, I strive to uphold the honor that speaks true to this nation's history. You are as much my countryman as any other."

"That's the reason for your code?"

"From a purely idealistic standpoint, yes. And that is all that need be required for a man's honor. However, in my experience, when I treat people with respect, I find there are many more people who are deserving of that respect. There will always be the brutish, the ignorant, the ingrate, the exploitative. Should I let such baseness change who I am, make me deny what I hold as true? Or shall I say I require more of myself, that honoring the dignity of another person is a strength?"

"The world is not so easy as that. I will not spare the feelings of a person who tries to do me harm."

"Respect is not about apologizing to the man trying to remove your head. It is also not allowing yourself to be used. Respecting another is about retaining your own integrity in the face of those who would rob you of it."

"You… have an interesting code, Ser Finnian. I'm not sure if it's practical, or if I agree with it, but I'm grateful that people like you exist. I will think on what you said."

Finnian stood with Raviathan and offered his hand. "An honor to meet you, Warden. May the Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all." Raviathan shook the knight's hand then left the common room. Around Finnian, such a code seemed possible to live by. Not easy, but possible. The code was all the more valuable because holding to such mores required sacrifice. Finnian must have struggled, been tested over the years, yet he carried himself with an effortless grace. Was binding oneself to such principles ultimately limiting or freeing?

Deep in thought, Raviathan didn't notice the hall was occupied until he bumped into a man passing him. Realizing who it was, Raviathan caught the young knight by the elbow. "You. I want to speak with you." The knight glanced at him distrustfully. "You owe me," Raviathan pressed.

"Just talk?"

What else would he want? At Raviathan's nod, the knight looked about to make sure no one saw them, then the two ducked into a store room.

"What is it then?"

"Your name?"

The knight crossed his arms, the metal of his armor screeching as it rubbed. Reluctantly, he said, "Gage."

"You've been with elves?" The knight turned to leave, but Raviathan grabbed his elbow again. "Look. I've got men coming after me, left and right, and I need to learn how to defend myself. Or better yet, make them stop before they start. To do that, I need to understand."

"I don't need more trouble from my lord."

"This is just between us. Promise."

Gage bent his head down. "Alright," he said quietly. "Yeah."

Raviathan leaned against one wall, and Gage followed suit. "Were you always attracted to elves?"

"Naw. Well, your women, yes."

"So… what changed?"

Gage rubbed his jaw, unable to return Raviathan's gaze. "My friends and I were celebrating. They, um… we went to a house. I was never interested in men. My… my friend kept going on about elven men. Said they were like nothing else. He kept talking, and talking. He paid. So… I tried it out. You know? I mean, squires don't earn much, and, well, he'd be the only one who knew what I'd be doing. So, why not? After that… just changed the way I thought. When I've got a choice, and no one knows…" Gage glanced up, a quick shift before looking back down at the floor. "What I said, I didn't mean. Knew I was being rude. Don't even know why I said it. Knew Ser Finnian would be upset. Just…" he sighed. "Ah, Maker."

"Do you enjoy human men?"

"Tried it a few times. Not the same. Elves just… feel better. Clean. Smell nicer. More, um, active, you know?"

While prostitutes needed men like this for their survival, Raviathan wanted to hit him. "Can't you at least be kind to them?"

"I've never hurt anyone," Gage said, straightening. "Not, er, them anyway."

Though he wanted to lecture the shem, there wasn't much point. Such was the way of the world. "Just… just remember that they wouldn't be there if they had a choice. Least you can do is be respectful for what you're getting out of it."

Silence.

Raviathan bit his lips as he thought. "So then. What would you recommend I do to keep men from coming after me?"

Now it was Gage's turn to look thoughtful. "Don't know, really. Ah, I don't mean no offense here. Really, I don't. But you just look… ripe."

Ripe? Raviathan felt his cheeks warm. "Could you be more specific, please?"

Gage flushed. "Ah… I don't know. Ready."

Raviathan squirmed. He had asked, knew he was responsible because he had asked, but he hadn't been prepared for the embarrassment the knight's answers would bring. He took a few slow, steadying breaths. His emotions still boiled, like rushing water under a thin ice sheet, but he could retain control for now. "What would make me look less ready?"

"I… I don't rightly know. Mm. Maybe look a little tougher? Wear your weapons where they can be seen? Don't know if that would help. Some would take that as invitation to knock you down a bit. Maybe… maybe be colder?"

That took Raviathan a minute. Gage hadn't given him a solution, but he did make Raviathan review how he would appear to someone else. He thought of the women he had known, what made one look easy, another a challenge, and what turned him off. If a prostitute had triggered this man's libido, then he was attracted to elves who had been broken down, were cast out and alone. Women who were damaged on the inside left Raviathan cold, but that didn't hold true for other men, especially shems. If he thought like a predator, damaged meant easy. That attitude was repugnant in the callousness it required, but then these were shems.

Maker knew he had been full of tears lately. His emotions were always close to the surface. That reinforced everything he felt about Duncan. Duncan had never taken advantage of his vulnerability. Had only tried to help see him through his pain.

Murmuring his thanks, Raviathan started to leave only to find the knight's hand on his arm. At the glare Raviathan shot him, Gage retracted his arm as if he had grabbed a hot potato. "I… uh. I just wanted to say sorry. For what I said. Before."

Raviathan softened, gave him a nod to show acceptance, and returned to his room. Duncan was already dressed for sleep, thumbing idly through one of Raviathan's books. When ready, Duncan blew out the candle and the two settled into bed. Raviathan curled up next to Duncan, his head resting on the old warrior's shoulder.

"Rav?"

"Night, Duncan." Raviathan smiled at Duncan's awkwardness. "Sleep well."


	23. Strange Bedfellows – One's Purpose

The rain continued as unrelenting as it had been the day before. The land was soaking in much of the excess water, the nearby river swelling higher along the banks. Duncan sat in the corner of the bathing room, now Raviathan's clinic, and tended to some basic repairs of his armor, sharpened weapons, and drafted a letter for the Wardens about his newest recruit.

One by one or in families, people came with all sorts of issues, some of which Duncan was embarrassed to hear: persistent coughs, aching joints, rashes, chest aches, back pain, all sorts of odd skin issues, foot disease, digestive problems, excessive flatulence, injuries that had gone untreated without a physician, one man with a swollen leg, ulcers, infections, a waif of a girl who was anemic, pregnant women who wanted to make sure their baby was healthy and if he could tell what sex it would be, couples who were trying to get pregnant, sex diseases, and on it went. It seemed like everyone in a ten mile radius had been willing to trudge through the rain while there was a physician available.

Watching Raviathan work had been an education unto itself. When a family came in, Raviathan invariably addressed the mother who would detail every symptom of her husband and children while the others stayed quiet and compliant. Three times Raviathan had to send the inn's servant boys to Old Beth to restock items. Selice, the innkeeper's daughter, kept the line of people organized and made sure Raviathan had plenty of hot water. On top of crafting various medicines, the elf needed a constant supply of hot water for washing his hands. If Duncan had ever wanted to see a display of his abilities, this was it. Solyn must have been a tremendous healer to pass on all that skill. The boy was a wonder.

Most of the villagers ignored Duncan, or pretended to. No one questioned his right to be there. In return, Duncan tried to appear busy in order to give them some illusion of privacy. They may have been nervous, but what put people most at ease was the efficient competence that Raviathan projected. He wasn't at all cold, but there was a briskness to his manner that cut through his patients' modesty.

Maker, please let this boy live, Duncan prayed as he surreptitiously watched Raviathan tend to a child with breathing problems. A healer of his skill was invaluable and almost made up for the loss of a mage. Raviathan wrote down two recipes for the mother, a salve to rub on the child's chest at night and a twice daily tea to use for a month then as needed when the problem returned. He ended the session with the good news that most children grew out of such problems by young adulthood.

Raviathan was just finishing up, cleaning the table with a formula of water and spirits as he did after each patient, when there was a commotion outside the door. Duncan stood up and kept his weapons near but did not draw them. A boy, black hair contrasting against his pale face, flung open the door. He looked between Duncan and Raviathan. "We heard there was a physician here."

"What is it?" Raviathan asked in a commanding voice.

The boy hesitated only a moment as he looked the elf up and down. "My brother. He had a broken leg, but it's gotten all worse."

"Where is he?" Raviathan asked.

"My parents are bringing him. They should be here soon, but they wanted me to make sure you was here."

"What are his symptoms?"

"Um. His leg is hot. Says it hurts."

"Anything else?"

"Um. He sweats a lot, but he's cold. Sort of shaky. And he sleeps all the time. Even when he's awake he can't do anything."

"Tell your parents to bring him straight in," Raviathan said. The boy left without another word. "Selice," Raviathan called to the innkeeper's daughter. "The boy with the broken leg comes in next."

"Yes, ser," she called through the open door. There were mumblings from the other patients concerned for the child. Raviathan prepared his table, giving it a fresh wash and taking out instruments that had cooled after being steamed. These he placed on a tray that he had insisted be cleaned with boiling water. Though Duncan kept his eyes on the sword he was sharpening, he was intensely curious.

The exterior door banged, and a man and woman entered with care, carring their son in a sling made by their arms. Both boys took after their father with his coloration and sharp cheek bones. Raviathan said, "Bring him here. On the table."

Words of encouragement from the other patients followed the family. The injured boy was near a man grown, his pale skin slick with rain and sweat. The mother and father were exhausted from the trip. The father started when he saw Raviathan. "He's so young," the father whispered.

With their help, Raviathan removed the boy's pants. The splint was roughly made of wood strips banded tightly together. Raviathan removed the splint with practiced efficiency. The boy's leg was swollen with an angry, red patch around a scar in the lower half of his thigh. Raviathan said, "I was told he broke his leg. The bone went through the skin?"

"Yes, ser," the mother said. "Kelly here was working the field setting up water ways. 'Cause of the drought and all. The ox spooked, and he got caught in the trowel. Broke his leg right clean it did. He was screaming so, holding his leg. I could see the bone. My father said that was good that it was a clean break. That it would heal better."

"How long ago?"

"Um," the mother said. "Six weeks?"

Raviathan said, "Tell me when it hurts." He touched the swollen area, probing various spots, and the boy hissed in pain. Raviathan felt the boy's forehead and kept his hand there. "He's been tired lately?"

"Oh yes, ser. Sleeps most of the day, he does," the mother said anxiously.

"Your son said he has chills and that his leg hurts him?" Raviathan asked.

"Yes," the mother said, both parents looking between Raviathan and their son. Duncan pitied them. They were both wet to the bone and sick with worry. "He's been saying his bone hurts. Says it over and over and we've told him not to move, we did, but he can't stop worming about so."

Coming to a conclusion, Raviathan took his hand from the frightened boy's head. "The wound is infected. I'm going to give him medicine to make him sleep then operate. How good a cook are you?"

Startled, the mother said, "Eh? Well enough, I suppose."

"Can you follow a detailed recipe?" Raviathan asked sharply as he continued a cursory examination of the boy's leg. "Measure exact amounts?"

"Yes. I can do that."

"Please, ser," the father said. He was clutching his hat in his hand, wringing the old leather to a shapeless mass. "Will he loose his leg?"

The already pale boy went bone white. "No." He pushed away on the table, turning from his father to the elf. "No father, please. Please, I don't want to lose my leg."

"Quiet," Raviathan said, not unkindly. "I have a recipe for a very powerful medicine, but it must be mixed exactly and given to him twice a day for six weeks. Each batch needs to be prepared fresh each day, and it might get expensive."

"Expensive?" the father asked.

"I think baccus gum is the most expensive ingredient. Can you afford three pints?"

"We have a tree," the mother said, seizing on new hope. "We'll cut down the whole thing if we have to."

"I'll do my best to save his leg," Raviathan said, "but you must commit to this potion for six weeks. No less. Even one day, and the infection can come back. It doesn't matter how healthy he seems. You must promise, six full weeks."

"I swear by the Maker," the mother said.

"If I can save your leg," Raviathan said turning to the boy, "you have to make the same promise. Six weeks, twice a day, not one day less. No complaints or trying to get out of it. If you don't take the potion, you will lose your leg."

"I promise, ser," the boy said, desperation and hope mingling in his feverish face. "Swear by the Maker."

Raviathan nodded once and went to his kit to begin mixing a potion. "Go sit outside," he said to the parents without looking at them. "This room needs to be as clean as possible, so don't let anyone in. I'll let you know as soon as I can. Duncan, I need you to guard the door as well."

For the first time the parents gave Duncan more than a cursory glance. "As you say," Duncan replied gravely and gathered his things.

The boy turned to his parents, looking lost, and the mother lifted her chin and squared her shoulders to encourage her son. He nodded, still looking afraid but working to master it. "I won't lose my leg?"

"I'll do my best," Raviathan replied. "Here. Drink this. It'll taste horrible, so get it over as fast as you can. Then lie back."

The boy did as he was told and gagged on the potion. "Maker's breath. What was that?"

"Something to make you sleep. Lie back," Raviathan said gently.

Duncan and the parents left the room.

~o~O~o~

Hours turned by as the injured boy's parents sat or paced. Selice kept bring them fresh tea that went untouched. Other patients who lingered at the inn spoke to them. "Finest healer I ever saw. Really. Much better than Old Beth was in her prime."

"Your boy will be alright," a woman said, followed by some story meant to be comforting.

When Raviathan, drooping with exhaustion, came out, both parents jumped to their feet. A tea cup fell, rattling on the floor. He raised a hand for them to sit. "Kelly, you said his name was?"

The mother nodded. She clutched her husband's hand, her knuckles white.

"The operation was successful," Raviathan said, sitting next to them. "An infection settled inside his broken bone. I had to open his leg up, open his bone to remove the infection and puss. I cleaned out everything, stitched him back together. He's sleeping now, will be for another hour. I'm going to recommend he stay here for a week. When you do move him back home, keep his leg up and immobile. Use a cart and drive slow. Here are the recipes." He handed her two folded papers. "One for pain, though he shouldn't have much of that, one to make sure the infection doesn't come back."

"Twice a day. Six weeks. Promise, ser." The mother took the papers with numb fingers. The father put his head down, kissed his wife's hand, and sat very still.

"Any questions?" Raviathan asked.

The mother shook her head. "Maker bless you, ser. Maker smiled the day you came here."

Startled, Raviathan patted her shoulder. "Let him sleep. You can see him in an hour. I gave him a heavy dose of pain killer, so he'll be dazed."

She nodded, tears welling.

Catching Duncan's eye, Raviathan left with him to the main room. He stretched his neck and arms, flexed his shoulders trying to get rid of the tension that had built up.

"I have some letters that need to be sent off. I trust you'll do your utmost to stay out of trouble while I'm away?"

Raviathan gave him an ironic grin. "I think I've got a village full of defenders now."

Duncan squeezed his shoulder and left. Raviathan sank into a booth, still trying to work out his tired muscles. Selice stopped by with a small platter of food, thick butternut squash soup with cream and a sandwich with thin slices of beef. "Missed the luncheon, but cook made you something special for when you were ready."

"Thanks," Raviathan said, his eyebrows raised at the quality of his meal.

"My father has a black lager he wanted to open for you, but I said you didn't drink." Selice put a tankard of warm spiced apple cider before him.

"Uh, thanks."

As soon as Selice bounced away, a boy slid into Raviathan's booth. The elf raised an eyebrow at Billy. "How's your sister?"

"Stopped crying so much. Mama said it was the Maker's will you came here."

Maker's will I almost get strung up then kidnapped? "That's nice of her." Raviathan took a bite out of his sandwich. The sharp heat of horseradish filled Raviathan's nose for an instant followed by the tangy flavor of an unfamiliar white sauce. The cook had gone all out. Raviathan made a mental note to talk to him again before they left.

"Your food smells good."

"It is."

"Are you going to stay long?"

"No. I have to go south to the war."

"So you won't stay?"

"Nope."

"We need a healer."

"The soldiers need healing too. If they fall, the darkspawn will come north."

"I thought darkspawn were all gone."

"Well, there's some left in the south. The King is there, fighting them. That's how important the war is."

The boy scratched his cheek then fidgeted. Billy's blue eyes stood out large and innocent from a dirty face. "You didn't like it when mama called you knife ears."

"No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"It's rude."

"Why? You've got pointed ears."

"Knife ears isn't about having pointed ears." With reluctance, Raviathan put down his sandwich to turn to the child. "Did you know that elves were slaves for a thousand years?" Billy shook his head no, his eyes growing wider. "We lost our language, our stories, our culture. We were beaten, hurt, had our children sold never to see them again, were slaughtered for blood mages to gain power. Terrible things happened to my people during those long years. We've never been the same after that. We fought with Andraste for our freedom, but the slavery of my people still continues in Tevinter. After my people were freed, humans didn't want us to be equal. Do you know how farmers marked their animals? They brand ox and cattle or cut a pig's ears?"

Billy nodded.

"The same was done with elves. 'Knife ears' comes from 'take a knife to their ears'. As slaves, our ears were marked. Date of birth, lineage, the house we were born to. Even in free lands, when humans thought elves were getting uppity or wanting too much, they would cut or dock an elf's ears to remind us we were slaves, that we're still beneath humans. Calling one of my people 'knife ears' is saying our ears should be cut, that we're just like animals."

Billy picked at his lip, and Raviathan went back to his sandwich. Finally, the child said, "Mama didn't mean anything wrong. She likes you."

A shred of bitterness left Raviathan. "It's a serious insult. You know not to call us that anymore?" Billy nodded. "Not even when you're mad?" Billy nodded again with a very serious expression on his young face. "Would you like part of my sandwich?" A third nod. Raviathan cut off the last third and handed it over. He put the bowl of soup between them so they could both dip their sandwiches into it.

"You're really pretty."

"Thanks."

"Prettier than any of the girls here."

Raviathan hesitated a second before taking his next bite.

"Are all elves so pretty?"

"Some are," Raviathan said through a mouthful of food. The boy seemed too young to have a crush, but what did he know about humans? One lecture was enough, so Raviathan let the 'pretty' remark go. "Eat your food."

Billy seemed content to stare at him, so Raviathan finished his lunch in silence. The respite was welcome after seeing to all the villagers. Raviathan couldn't understand why he was so tired. Working at the docks or the miles of walking over the last days had used far more energy. Today he had stayed in one room, yet he was ready to do nothing more than sit by the fire and read until bed.

Meal finished, Raviathan returned to a hallway of ready patients. Hours passed as the injured, the sickly, and the worried paraded in and out. When the last man left, after shaking Raviathan's hand hard enough to pull it off, the elf slumped against the wall next to the fire. Duncan poked his head in, spied the elf, and grinned. "Come along. Dinner is waiting."

With more effort than he cared to admit, Raviathan hauled himself up and followed the warrior. Again, the chef had a special meal planned for them. Delectable sweetbreads in a port wine sauce with buttery vegetables and fresh white bread that made Raviathan think of his grandmother.

Duncan broached the subject he had been thinking about since the previous evening. "Why was it so uncomfortable for you to share a bed when we were first traveling? It's a common enough practice, and we have to share tents and the like often."

The elf's flashing eyes regarded him for a moment. Elves had a reputation for having unreadable eyes, which Duncan was reminded of with this Raviathan's steady gaze. They held an otherworldly beauty, and he could understand the stronger, single emotions like rage, but the more subtle aspects escaped him. It wasn't a lack of emotion, but the expression in elven eyes was different from a human. Raviathan asked, "You mean, humans do that a lot?"

"Certainly. The nobles are exceptions, not the rule. From what I understand from Valendrian, most elves live in one room apartments. It can't be that unusual."

The elf seemed startled by the idea that humans had different customs about sleeping. "Well, sharing a room is different. I didn't mind that. But… sleeping with someone… that's intimate."

"But it isn't sex."

"No," the elf admitted, as if considering how to explain. "With sex, you don't have to care for someone. Sometimes it's just a physical release. And random." He squirmed. "Like with prostitutes. Sex is better when it's with someone you care about, of course, but that isn't a requirement. Elves only sleep with someone we're very close to."

Duncan frowned as he thought. "So you wouldn't even sleep next to someone for warmth or because there isn't enough room?"

Raviathan shook his head. "Even if you have eight to an apartment, everyone has their space. Couples and siblings sleep together, so space isn't that much an issue. I didn't mind sleeping next to my cousins or aunt because I love them. It's a mark of trust and affection to do that. Never with a stranger, though. If it came to sharing a small tent or sleep outside in the rain, I'd sleep outside."

"You know," Duncan said, hoping to clarify so the elf wouldn't be confused in the future, "we use the terms sleep with and sex interchangeably. Sex is considered a more intimate act though there are exceptions."

A far off look came into Raviathan's face as he tried to digest that bit of information. "That seems so strange. You sleep together easily, and yet the terms are one and the same. How can you tell what someone is asking for?"

Duncan chuckled. "If you ask someone to sleep with you, it's usually sex. Otherwise it's 'sharing' a floor space, tent, or bed." This explained some of Tarimel's behavior. If only the other elf had been open enough to say just this, a lot of confusion and unintentional slights would have been avoided. Only a moment's time, and all those stupid misunderstandings the rest of the Wardens had about Tarimel and vice-versa could have been eliminated. "Thank you for explaining that to me." The elf nodded with his mouth full of potatoes and carrots. "Are you getting use to the idea of sleeping with others? Like with us?"

Suddenly shy, the elf looked down, concentrating over much on his dinner. He was hunched in again, and Duncan thought he wouldn't answer when Raviathan admitted very quietly, "You're not a stranger. I… I trust you."

Realization settled into Duncan with those little words that said so much more. He felt his throat constrict and took a swallow of ale to ease it. The elf had been showing him a deep trust and respect, and he hadn't even realized it. Was it all elves, or just this one who had such delicate emotional lives? Valendrian had said Raviathan showed a heightened sensitivity. That was true, but Tarimel's behavior was much clearer now that he learned just this one aspect of elven culture. It wasn't just this elf's sensitivity.

Raviathan was a bigger responsibility than Duncan had realized, but one that came with rewards as well. Alistair had made him feel that way shortly after he had conscripted the young man. The young, despondent templar had a desperate need for a father figure, and Duncan knew the boy had attached to him quickly, more than he had the rest of the Wardens. There had been only a handful Duncan had confessed his nightmares to and what it meant. Alistair, despite being the most junior member, had been one of them.

Maybe he was getting overly sentimental in his final days, but Alistair and now Raviathan's affection touched him. He knew he shouldn't allow it. They would be mourning him all too soon, and if he wasn't careful it could show favoritism which could breed resentment from the others. Perhaps it was because he didn't have that much time left that he indulged in these relationships. They made him feel that his life had been worthy. After a long life of duty, it was a comfort that he was cared for.

That night as the two got ready for bed, Duncan made a decision. For whatever time he had left, Raviathan would bunk with him. He would have to talk to the other Wardens, and there might be some rumors about their relationship, but if he explained it carefully, how the boy helped keep the nightmares at bay, it might not be an issue for Raviathan when he was on his own with the Wardens. Duncan realized he was probably fooling himself, but now that he was nearing the end, he didn't care. Duncan got into the cold bed with the elf already there. The eyes flashed in the near darkness as they watched Duncan. The two hadn't said a word since Raviathan's confession.

In the short visits he had at the alienage and among the Dalish, he had noticed the easy affection elves shared with each other. They were very physical with many casual touches cementing emotional bonds. It would be a disaster if he misinterpreted the elf, but taking a chance, Duncan moved close to Raviathan in the bed. The eyes flashed as the elf shifted. With a small sigh of relief that he hadn't misjudged, Duncan felt the elf snuggle into the crook of his arm, using his chest as a pillow with an arm slung over his chest. Raviathan's weight was surprisingly light. "Good night, Rav."

"Night, Duncan," he said softly back.

The Archdemon did not intrude into his dreams.

~o~O~o~

"Rav," Duncan started the next morning as they walked next to a lake swollen from the recent rains. "I want you to be patient with the other Wardens. I've come to realize our cultures are quite different, and they need time to understand that. If they say something, don't immediately take offence and be willing to explain offences."

"I'll try," Raviathan said, annoyed. "But if they call me knife ears…"

Duncan chuckled. He realized he did that a lot around the elf. "Then you have my permission to stand up for yourself. But you've seen how we've had misunderstandings. The Grey Wardens won't look down on you for being an elf, but sometimes it's easy to say the wrong thing without meaning to or understanding why it's wrong."

Raviathan didn't say anything. In truth he had known very few shems. Yesterday, not one of those villagers had said a single thing about him being an elf. Obviously they shouldn't insult the man they were looking to for healing, but it had been something of an experience. He had thought shems were callous and lacked any normal sense of empathy, but after he looked at the worried parents, especially the mother and father who had carried their sick boy in, he realized shems were more complex than he gave them credit for. They could care just as deeply, but those emotions were hidden. There was still a selfishness many of them had, and they could be unconscionably cruel, but there were redeeming aspects.

Instead of answering, he looked out over the eastern tendril of a lake. The morning sun glinted off the cloudy grey lake water. Ice rimmed the edge or the lake, the center rippling from the wind. Low hills squatted on the northern side, veiled behind the early fog. Shades of blue and a touch of pink from the sun gave depth and warmed the view. He had heard from other elves who moved to Denerim that it could take a week or more to travel there, but that hadn't really impressed upon him how big Ferelden was. For the most part he tried not to think of the family he left behind as such thoughts filled him with heartache. Instead he focused on the multitude of lakes they passed, the hills and rocky outcrops, the rise and fall of land he had never known existed. Playing squirrels and songbirds helped distract him, and for that he was grateful. More distractions couldn't hurt though.

"Where are you from, Duncan?"

"I was born in Highever."

The elf gave him a look as if he were being obtuse. "Fereldans are naturally light skinned."

"That may be, but I was still born in Highever."

"But you're not descended from Fereldans."

"Because I'm dark? You do realize that all Fereldans came from the north. Go back far enough, everyone here came from somewhere else."

"We're not talking about ancient history."

"What about you? You're also a native Fereldan."

"You know my mother was from Tevinter."

"Does that make you less of a Fereldan?"

"Fine. If you need to get specific about it. Where are your parents from?"

"Well, I met them in Highever."

Raviathan laughed. "Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Were your parents Fereldan?"

"The fact that your mother was born in Tevinter doesn't change the fact that she became Fereldan."

Raviathan threw up his hands. "Why won't you answer? Is it some secret? Will it cast doubt on your honor or label you treasonous?"

"It has before."

"You're having me on," Raviathan replied, eyeing the warrior.

Finding that the elf had little knowledge on the Orlesian occupation and rebellion, Duncan continued with the history lessons as well as he knew them. It wasn't until he started talking about Genevieve that he realized he was giving away too much. It was his own fault, but Raviathan was easy to talk to.

Thankfully, a new distraction found them. Duncan stopped Raviathan and pointed out a small pack of wolves trailing nearby at the edge of a wood. "Can you take them out?"

Raviathan unslung and strung his bow. "I'm not that good at archery. Not many opportunities to practice in the alienage."

"Just see what you can do," Duncan replied. "A few of them are blight wolves."

"Blight wolves?" Raviathan asked as he took aim and slowly exhaled.

"The taint that makes darkspawn dangerous has infected them. It makes them stronger and more aggressive, plus they spread the taint. The most obvious tell are hard spikes grow out of their fur." He watched as Raviathan's carefully aimed shot sped away. There was a yip of pain followed quickly with another arrow, and the first wolf was down. "Not bad at all."

There were a few misses, but the elf acquitted himself well taking down each wolf with two to three shots. The two blight wolves took five arrows each, but Raviathan's nerves were steady as they charged. "Well done," Duncan said clapping the elf on the shoulder. Raviathan grinned. unstrung his bow, then left to retrieve the arrows with Duncan following. "Beware of the blight wolves. Their blood is toxic."

"Is that true for all darkspawn blood?"

"Yes. If their blood gets into an open wound, it can cause blight plague to all but Grey Wardens. Blight plague is wasting illness. Some may be able to fight off the taint to a degree, but it will always be fatal given enough time."

"Then the regular soldiers are in danger. How do you keep them from catching blight plague?"

"We don't," Duncan said. "But there are less than two dozen Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We need the soldiers. That's the nature of sacrifice. We must all sacrifice because if we don't the darkspawn will cover all the nation and beyond."

Raviathan had stopped as the weight of that decision dawned on him. The burden of that knowledge was painful. "Do the soldiers know that?"

"I don't think so, or at least not completely. We have explained the nature of the taint to the generals and captains, and it is their job to make the rest understand." Cailan was a problem that had been troubling Duncan since the hoard showed itself in the south. They desperately needed his support, but the king was far too inexperienced and incautious. Even this elf who had lived his whole life in a tiny ghetto, who had none of the benefits of advisors or tutors, could make better decisions. The manipulation of Cailan was depressing, but it was necessary.

"So," Raviathan asked as they neared the first of the downed wolves, "what are the symptoms of blight plague?"

"Those infected by the taint become confused and weaken. However, there are occasionally animals who survive the initial stages. They mutate." Duncan knelt by one of the blight wolves and used it knife to raise one of the spikes sticking out of its side. "See this? They're hard enough to act as armor, and sharp. Like rabies, the animals are mad and very aggressive. Most animals avoid darkspawn. They sense the taint and run from it as they would a fire."

"I… I feel it." Raviathan remained ten paces away, staring at the animal. "Duncan. It's so awful. The taint. What is it?"

"What do you know of the first darkspawn?" Maker's breath, the boy was sensitive. Most people could feel the terrible unnaturalness of the taint, but not to that degree. Alistair had shown a keen sensitivity, more than any recruit Duncan had seen in his long years as Commander. Considering Alistair's lineage, his sensitivity to the taint, and the power the taint induced dreams had on him, had been unfortunate if not unexpected.

If Raviathan survived, the Wardens would have two who would be capable of tracking in a few years. Trackers had a rare talent for being able to distinguish the taint signature of a Warden and could follow it like a bloodhound on a scent trail. They could sense darkspawn from further distances, with greater accuracy, and eventually understand darkspawn communication. Trackers paid a heavy price for their gifts. Taint induced dreams left them screaming, and their resistance to the taint was not as strong, their life spans further reduced than their fellows.

Raviathan backed away, his eyes focused on the blight wolf. He sat on a rock near the long lake, one in a series of the chains that led to Lake Calenhad. The day was as sunny as it had been moments ago, but the profound wrongness of the taint brought a chill to the air that had nothing to do with the cold southern wind.

"I know the story of the Tevinter Archons," Raviathan began, his arms crossed over his stomach. He appeared sickened, his skin a shade paler. "From the historical and religious accounts, the most powerful of the Tevinter mages came together with the goal of walking in the Golden City, Seat of the Maker. They used up half the lyrium in the land and slaughtered many thousands of elven slaves in a blood magic ritual. That ritual transported their physical bodies to the Fade, not just their spirits. That ritual broke the veil that separates our worlds. Dark magic like that had never been attempted before or since. Partly because of the expense of lyrium and lives used to power the ritual, but also because of the damage those mages wrought. The birth of the darkspawn.

"There are… different theories though. One is that the Maker, enraged—by the hubris of man, by the slaughter of thousands of lives, by the humans who dared to follow other gods, by the corruption of His throne, by Andraste only knows what—cast the mages back. The Black Divine in Tevinter says that the corruption of the Fade followed the mages. The White Divine of Orlais says the Maker made the darkness of the mages' hearts real, cursed them with it. Such is how the first darkspawn were begotten. The Maker's plague upon the world.

"And still the Black and White Divines fight. A great irony is that the mages outside of Tevinter pay for the Archon's hubris, while in Tevinter they still rule."

His focus turned inward, Raviathan continued. "But there are non-religious theories, too. A possibility is that the mages communicated extensively with demons and perhaps their own gods in order to learn the ritual. Demons, in their hunger for true life, took advantage of the mages' equal hunger for glory. Breaking the laws of magic and physics may have transformed the demons they worked with, stripped away their intellect and brought only their accumulated evil. Or the demons betrayed them and corrupted the ritual in an effort to break open the veil. Either way, the effect was the same.

"One theory is that because the ritual had never been performed, the mages miscast. Could be that the darkspawn resulted from a simple mistake. The power raised was too much for the acolytes to handle, or that the casting itself suffered from lack of preparation. Killing so many people for the ritual something of a logistical nightmare, let alone harvesting and holding that much power."

Raviathan stood and walked over to the blight wolf with his hand extended. He tested the boundary of the taint that radiated off the wolf. "Can you imagine? All the death and pain the darkspawn have caused? All from something as small and stupid as mage with a hangover miscasting at the crucial moment? It's a possibility though, considering how that there has never been so complex a spell performed."

The taint was like heat in that its darkness radiated, growing weaker the further away he was from the source. Just the prickles of wrongness started to make the tips of Raviathan's fingers itch. How could he describe the wrongness of this feeling? Not just itch, but like his blood had turned to gravel, grinding him up from the inside.

"One thing most theorists agree on is that the mages went to what was known as the Golden City," Raviathan continued only half aware of his words. "The Golden City was inaccessible to all, even Fade spirits. That City changed after the ritual, but the reason may not be divine. Could be that the City was really a prison for a great evil, and the mages unleashed that evil. The evil tainted the City then followed the path the mages had created to our realm."

His bones felt like they were splintering inside his hand. How could Duncan stand to be so close to the taint? Just the smell alone. Rot was at least part of their world. This didn't smell like old blood or rot or even infection. Acidic bile and offal were the closest scents Raviathan could link it to, but even they were natural. This was wholly separate.

"My people are much more likely to be born with mage talent than a human. Our souls are tied to the Fade as no other creature is. All that death. All those lives sacrificed. That alone thins and can tear the Veil that separates our realms. The Fade, suddenly swarmed with fresh souls, along with all the power generated with blood magic and lyrium, was ripe for tampering. The elves, perhaps one or many with untapped talent, in one supreme moment of suffering and vengeance, cursed the Tevinter mages when they were at their most vulnerable."

No longer able to stand the feeling of the taint, Raviathan returned to the stone, his head bent and arms over his stomach as if he was going to be sick. Twittering birds that had sounded musical before now graded against Raviathan's ears, the contrast too sharp.

"Another theory is that the taint isn't anything divine, just a fall out from breaking the physics of our realms. The premise is that the mages were already utterly corrupt. That they would even do such a ritual testifies to their moral state. Forcing their physical bodies into the Fade resulted in an equal element of the Fade getting forced back into our realm. The part of the Fade that was forced came from the mages, bringing the darkness of their souls into the world. That darkness is the taint."

Overwhelmed, Duncan blinked. "Where in the Maker's name did you learn all of this?"

"I, um," Raviathan gave him a sly if weak smile. "When I was young, I used to sneak into a bann's library at night to read."

Astonished out of conscious thought, Duncan sat next to his recruit. Were there going to be no end of surprises with this lad?

"I've got a pretty good story about that."

"No doubt," Duncan snorted, putting an arm around the elf. The boy looked like he needed a stiff drink. "So you already knew something of what the taint is."

"It was all intellectual before," Raviathan said, sounding far off as he regarded the blight wolf. "Words only. I never expected to… to feel it. Like heat radiating from a bonfire. Duncan, I've thought about morality all the time. What's good and bad, the ethics of competing moral standards. Is it better to save a few at the risk of many? Steal bread to save your loved ones? Even when it was practical… do we have the right to throw a child out of the alienage? Children don't know the consequences to the degree an adult does. Is it fair to ruin their lives, take away the only protection they may have? What's good, what's evil? What is just? Right and wrong.

"But this? It's beyond all of that. Makes all those concerns seem like children's games. The questions we ask about moral behavior have real consequences, affect so many, but they're nothing in the face of… of that. When I first heard the story of how the darkspawn came to be, it couldn't prepare me for the sheer… wrongness. That's the taint?"

Duncan nodded.

"It's like turning the world upside down, but far, far worse. I felt like I was being turned in ways my body can't move. Like my stomach getting ripped out, the bones of my ribs prying open, snapping back so that I'm blood and slippery organs on the outside."

"That's a very accurate description. I've heard maggots under the skin, too."

"That crawly feeling? Yeah, kind of. But maggots belong to this world. That… that feeling of wrongness never did." Raviathan took Duncan's hand in both of his. He studied the warrior's rough hand as he thought. "And that's what you fight. What you want me to fight."

For the first time since he had walked out of Denerim's gates, Raviathan's thoughts of the alienage weren't made solely of loss. The faces of the people he loved shown bright in his mind. Pain lingered, but he no longer felt that he gave them up. They needed to be protected. They needed him.

'The Tide of Evil' was a cliché that populated child's stories. He and his mother had told countless stories to children, fantasies only, of dark mages or werewolves or darkspawn. Fears of a world too great, of overwhelming power, could be diminished by these stories. In stories they could contain their fear, control it. Raviathan was far enough away he didn't feel the twisting wrongness radiating from the blight wolf anymore, but the memory lingered, like the smell of burning.

The Fade had a connection to this world, but it was little beyond impressions. The love a child gave a toy animal could be seen in wear with only the vaguest impressions of the emotion that clung to the figure. Raviathan could feel the subtle flavors of meditative calm and creation his mother had infused in her lute. In the realm of the living, the Fade was real as music, untouchable, it's vibrations permeating physical structures, filling their world, but few could do more than get impressions.

This, the taint, was Fade energy, but the power of it seized Raviathan by the heart. The Fade covered all things like a thin mist—pervasive, but light, caught more in the periphery than direct sight. The taint was like an avalanche. There was no avoidance, no denial. It was fast, brutal, inescapable. There was no intellectualizing, no diminishing. The twisted wrongness of the taint was alive. As terrible as an avalanche was, it was passive. Mud and snow, a creating of physical forces. The taint lived. It sought. It wanted to destroy.

The soldiers who had carried out the purge when Raviathan was a child were savage beyond reason. They cared nothing for the lives they stole, the generation of pain they brought to the survivors. But they were men. They were sons and fathers, had wives, lived lives outside that time of madness as different people who obeyed laws and worked for their existence. The thugs who killed his mother were human, with all the complexities of humans. They were men who wanted survival in a hard world, and made that world harder as a result. The templars who killed his aunt were fanatics, hateful men who believed in the sanctity of their actions. But they believed they followed a righteous cause. Even Vaughan. Self centered, bastard that he was, was only a man. The evil all those men wrought upon the world, upon Raviathan and his kin, was caused by heartlessness. Those men didn't set out to do evil as some caricature in a story, cackling at the hapless hero. Those men just didn't care who they hurt, that they caused pain.

The taint sought destruction. It was evil. It was every act of rape, murder, betrayal, and violence without the corresponding humanity to check its path.

Raviathan ran his thumb over the dry skin of Duncan's hand. Scarred, arthritic, calloused, and strong.

He was one elf, one small link in a coat of armor, but so were they all. The links stood together. One little elf could do nothing to stop the tide of taint that swelled in the south. But he wasn't alone. He would be part of the Grey Wardens. He would fight along soldiers from all over the land, from cities and places he had never seen. Together, they would fight. What little strength he had, he would give. What he was asked to do was more than anything he could have envisioned in his life. A purpose greater than he ever thought possible.

His mother and aunt, by sword or scalpel, had protected their community, the people they loved. They had taught him what they could in the few years they had. Raviathan saw the image of his cousins, his father, all his friends, the children he had played with, Valendrian, Nesiara—Raviathan's heart squeezed tight at the thought of her. Then the damaged people of the village who sought his healing, Finnian, Molly, and so many other faces floated in his mind's eye. They all needed him.

Raviathan leaned down and kissed the palm of Duncan's hand. "Thank you, Duncan."


	24. Strange Bedfellows – Divisions

What had gone through Raviathan's mind, Duncan wondered. The lad's reaction to the taint from the blighted wolves was singular in Duncan's experience. Disgust, nausea, and terror were all normal responses, ones Duncan had seen often, but to be thanked? More often than not, new Warden recruits balked at their first encounter with the taint. While the elf's motivation was a mystery, it was not the most pressing. The lad knew less than most about history or darkspawn, yet his recitation of theories matched Duncan's own knowledge. "Rav, how did you know all that about the taint?"

"Hmm? Know what?" Raviathan couldn't tear his gaze away from a half-frozen waterfall. Fresh water poured over long-formed icicles, transforming the waterfall into a sculpture of shimmering light. A hazy rainbow muted the flashes of hard, bright light—light that turned the refracted sun cold and pure. "Maker's breath, Duncan. I had no idea how beautiful this land is. Just look at that. It's extraordinary, like winter distilled into one perfect moment. And that will only exist for such a brief time. The ice melts or the sun leaves, and we'll never see this again. I don't know if that makes the sight better or not."

Startled from his question, Duncan stopped to join Raviathan in watching the waterfall. "How do you mean?"

"My aunt and I always had this discussion. She would say strawberries are sweeter because we only have them for a season. I would say strawberries are sweet no matter what. It's just that we don't always take the time to appreciate what we have. She thought that's what made her win the argument, and why I think she lost. We can appreciate the world around us anytime by becoming mindful of what we have. Rainbows aren't beautiful because they're temporary. They're beautiful because they are beautiful. It's just that people are more willing to pay attention to them because they're rare."

On impulse, Duncan rested a hand on the lad's shoulder, squeezing slightly. Elven eyes flashed in his direction, warm as an Antivan sea, before turning back to the waterfall. Duncan said into the peace of the morning, "I agree with your aunt. Some things are precious because they are so rare."

The two continued to watch the waterfall, Duncan casually combing his fingers through Raviathan's hair. When he noticed Raviathan's faint trembling, Duncan pulled his eyes away from the sight to glance at his charge. Tear tracks marking his face, Raviathan stared without seeing, an expression of exquisite pain naked as a blade.

"Rav?"

The elf turned his head away, hastily wiping away his tears. "S-sorry. Uh, you were telling me about the Emperor Drakon's battles in the Second Blight."

"What's wrong?"

Raviathan breath hitched, and he turned to continue down the road. "The Battle of Ghislain? In Divine 32, wasn't it?"

"Rav…"

"Dun-can." Raviathan's guttural voice broke his name. "Please?"

The more Duncan knew of the boy, the more of a mystery he became. Whatever Raviathan's thoughts, escape from pain Duncan did understand. "When the contingent of griffon trained Wardens arrived from the Anderfels, Emperor Drakon planned an aerial assault on the captured city. Fortresses were not as common then, but the city used the natural marshlands it was built upon as a defense."

What was going through the lad's head?

~o~O~o~

Instead of an army ready to move south to battle darkspawn, Duncan found himself being guided up the foothills south of Lake Calenhad that led to the Frostback Mountains. A thin drizzle sought every crevice and opening of his armor to soak him through like cold sweat. Scrub brush accompanied the scant weeds that struggled for purchase in the stony earth in this patch of Ferelden. Brow furrowed in consternation at the weather, Duncan eyed grey skies, grey rain, and land colored in shades of brown, grey, and more brown.

"A very strange time of year for the Avvars to attack, isn't it?" Duncan asked.

"Indeed," the messenger replied. "We get raids in the summer, then they go back up to their mountains to hole up the rest of the year when the snow makes the trails impassable. It's our guess that the light winter has made them bold, so they decided to use that to surprise us."

"What's an Avvar?" Raviathan asked.

The messenger ignored the question until Duncan gave the man a hard glare. "Avvars are the barbarian tribes what live up in the mountains. Call us 'lowlanders'. Raid our farms. Steal foodstuffs and whatever they can't make on their own. Sometimes they take people, but that's rare."

"Take people?" Raviathan prompted.

"Yes, ser. We hear some become slaves. Others are used as mates to bolster their numbers. But Avvars don't have proper marriages. The keep a woman long enough to get them with a child or two, then the poor girl's passed to the next. Avvars ain't much more than animals, you ask me."

"Where did they come from?"

When the messenger shrugged, Duncan asked Raviathan, "How much do you know of King Calenhad?"

"He united the tribes of Ferelden into one country. Then there's the legend that he was part dog."

"That's all you know?" The messenger turned his head to look at the elf. "Maker's breath, even I know more than that."

Raviathan opened up his mouth to retort, but Duncan's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "We'll continue in more detail later. Suffice to say, the tribes that did not integrate with the rest of the nation moved either to the Frostbacks and became known as the Avvars, or went south into the Korcari Wilds, the Chasind." Duncan let the messenger move further ahead so he could speak with Raviathan privately. "When I was in my first years as a Warden, one of my compatriots was an Avvar. A fine man with a level head. An excellent leader who sacrificed his life so that I and others could live. A good skill to cultivate is learning to distinguish fact from prejudice. Not that the Avvars haven't earned the enmity of the arls and banns in this region, but they only see one side."

"You have that skill down well enough," Raviathan said.

"And one I want you to work on."

"What, about humans? Duncan, he wouldn't have even talked to me if you hadn't glared at him. That wasn't prejudice on my part. Honestly, you're the only human who hasn't treated me like a rat to be killed or an ox to be bought."

"No? Haven't I viewed you in terms of your usefulness to the Grey Wardens?"

Raviathan opened his mouth then closed it. "That's different."

"How so?"

After a moment's thought, Raviathan answered. "You wouldn't have risked me back at the alienage if you just desired a recruit. You may have gone to the alienage to get a recruit, but I was always a person to you, not like some sword you were purchasing."

"That's a rarity, Rav, and not one that should be indulged in." Duncan gave Raviathan's shoulder a final squeeze then let go. "You're just starting out, so you'll see in time. When we recruit, we can't judge, and that also means we can't show favoritism. If that means you come across a templar and a blood mage who could both serve as Wardens, you take them both. It would be a hard battle to get them to work together, but that's part of the sacrifice of the Grey. First and foremost, in every decision you make as a Grey Warden, your goal is to stop the darkspawn. By any means necessary."

Raviathan gazed up at Duncan, his eyes trusting yet measuring, weighing Duncan's words and the intention behind them. "Do you mentor all your recruits like this?"

"No, I don't."

"You're worried about the war in the South."

"Of course. I would be foolish not to be."

Raviathan studied him, his eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to puzzle Duncan out. "More than that. Something new you're concerned about."

A stony glint hardened Duncan's expression as he viewed the towering wall of mountain before them. "I wonder if the darkspawn could be driving the Avvars out of the mountains." Raviathan's head snapped forward to stare at the mountain, as if there was some clue he could find by looking closely enough. "If my suspicion is true, tell me what that means."

Nibbling his lip, Raviathan thought. "It could be that the darkspawn are moving west to Orlais. You said Orzammar is the only dwarven city left, and that's at the north pass. So the darkspawn could be traveling underground in the path of least resistance further south. They could be sneaking up on Orlais from that direction, or the darkspawn could be looking for a defensible position in order to build their numbers up, particularly if the war in the south has been successful so far. We would have a much harder time fighting them in the mountains, and they would have the advantage of easy navigation in the tunnels under all the weather and snow we would have to fight through.

"They could also be flanking us to surround the army, though. Or picking off allies rather than face a unified front. Could they be calling more darkspawn to the south? Like the reinforcements we've called from Orlais? How much do darkspawn think? How do they communicate?"

Give the boy half a chance, and Raviathan rose to the challenge. The history lessons were paying off in gold. Though his expression didn't change, Duncan felt a surge of pride in the lad's intelligence. "All good questions, Rav, though some of the answers will have to wait."

The camp was readying to move. Squires and lesser soldiers had the task of packing tents and equipment while more experienced soldiers continued to train.

The messenger was speaking with an older man surrounded by knights and a Chantry mother. Raviathan couldn't tell the older man's age. He had a full grey beard and long grey hair held out of his face with braids, but grey hair could mask a person's true age, making him appear older than was necessarily the case. His armor was plain at first glance, but on closer inspection, Raviathan saw that it was very well crafted from fine materials. That could mean either the human wasn't pretentious, or that he preferred to blend in to be less of a target to a hostile enemy.

"That would be Arl Eamon," Duncan whispered to Raviathan.

"… issues with the recent rain," the messenger stated, his chest puffed out.

"I'll allow for compensation of the east dock homes," Eamon said. "What else?"

"The arlessa is looking for a new tutor for your son."

"New tutor," Eamon said, mystified. "What's wrong with Torrme?"

"She said she caught him drinking excessively during his lecture hours. She fears his influence on the young master. But she says…" The messenger quieted when the arl waved him off.

"Whatever she thinks is best. I have other concerns at the moment." The men around the arl chuckled.

"It's only an Avvar invasion followed by some darkspawn horde, Your Grace. Surely you can personally oversee every staff appointment," one of the knights commented, eliciting more laughter.

Raviathan wasn't sure what to make of the arl. Despite the grey in his beard, he carried himself with the competence of a man used to fighting. A warrior certainly, but he didn't have the arrogance that William or Vaughan displayed so readily. Raviathan nibbled at the inside of his lip. Elves he could read with no problem, but humans remained a mystery. Though he was getting better at intuiting their personalities, he needed to adapt quicker.

"Duncan!" Eamon said with the warmth of an old comrade. "Good you came when you did. We're going to move camp further west in an hour."

"I take it you will not be heading south any time soon then," Duncan said.

"Not necessarily. I've been having some success in negotiations with the Avvar messenger. But come. We'll discuss in more detail." Eamon left to return to his tent, his knights following.

"Stay in the camp while I talk to the arl." Duncan turned back to Raviathan, eyes narrowed in mock irritation. "And no getting in trouble or kidnapped."

"So many shems about. That's going to be a tall order." Raviathan grinned back at Duncan's suspicious look, relieved that his mentor understood him. "Well, with this much fabulousness, I can't blame them for being unable to resist me."

"Yell if one of them throws you over his shoulder."

"Will do."

Raviathan caught the flash of white from Duncan's grin when he turned to follow the rest to the arl's tent. Watching the old warrior's retreating back, Raviathan nibbled his lip. He might be able to ease some of Duncan's old scars and arthritis if he was careful. Stinging nettles and burdock root grew in abundance here, perfect for teas and ointments. Raviathan would have left to go hunting for herbs if Duncan hadn't ordered him to stay. With so many new landscapes, Raviathan was itching to explore. How amazing this world was outside of his alienage. If his people could live free as the Dalish, out in the wonder of this land, their lives would be near perfect.

Since he was left to his own whims, Raviathan wandered about the camp. Everything fascinated him. He watched the squires bundle tents and equipment for a time, studying how they packed with an economy of space. Some of the equipment was ingeniously made, such as the cooking pots that stacked inside one another. Horses and oxen were tied up on one side of camp, which he decided to avoid. Attracted by the sound of sparring, Raviathan decided to head to the training area. He had never had the opportunity to watch men train before.

Rounding a large tent, Raviathan froze. A pack of huge, muscled mabari sat together in an open area of the camp. A pale grey beast lifted her head, her nose scenting the air, then turned to look at him. Raviathan's breath caught. Memories of howls, jaws bared to tear him apart, the smell of burning flesh all snapped into his brain. Within seconds, the entire pack was staring at him.

The kennel master rose up from the middle of the pack, a jar of silvery clay in one hand. He looked at the pack then to where Raviathan stood. "Huh. You'd think they've never seen an elf before."

At least he was called an elf. The kennel master's calm allowed Raviathan to reexamine the pack with new eyes. Despite his fear, the mabari showed no hostility. The dogs were curious above all else.

"You afraid of them, then?"

"A bit."

"So that's what got their attention. Eh, nothing to fear unless you're one of them Avvars. Last I remember, no elves among them." The kennel master bent down to smear more of the clay on the next dog. "If they were regular dogs, you'd be in trouble. Smell of fear would make them aggressive, go after you. These beauties know they can rip off your arms before you could do more than squeak. Isn't that right, me dear," he cooed at the closest.

Humans made no sense. Ignoring the man's odd behavior, Raviathan studied the dogs now that he knew the animals were controlled. They probably weighed more than he did by a few stone. The mabari came in all shades, their short fur showing off powerful muscles.

Most of the war dogs' muscle resided in their shoulders, their forelegs oddly shaped for a dog. Their forelegs reminded Raviathan of children playing at being dogs, the way children had to position their hands and arms to accommodate being on all fours. The comparison helped Raviathan identify how a mabari's shoulders locked much further back. Beneath their intimidating muscle mass, the dogs' wide scapula bone covered the front ribs like a piece of armor. The humerus bone was shorter, thicker, as were their metacarpus bones, setting their forelegs further back than a normal dog. Their over large paws ended in heavy claws, unusual for a dog.

"What's the paint for?" Raviathan asked. The analysis of the dogs' skeletal structure took Raviathan's mind off his fear. The dogs had returned to sniffing the air or the paint, looking about at whatever interested a mabari. Except for the grey female who continued to watch Raviathan, her head cocked in curiosity. The dog actually had quite a sweet face, Raviathan thought. Gentle eyes.

"Mabari identify their pack by smell. They're familiar with the soldiers here, but blood has a strong scent. Can confuse them in the thick of battle, especially when they get excited. The clay reminds them who their friends are."

The grey mabari was still watching him. When her stub of a tail started a tentative wag, Raviathan returned the gesture by wiggling his fingers. A bright pink tongue fell out to lick her muzzle. He grinned, enchanted by the animal's plaintive whine. She twisted in her sitting position to take a step toward him, her neck stretched out.

"Hey! Get out of here!" The kennel master pulled on the grey mabari's collar to get her to turn away. "I don't need her imprinting on some random knife ear."

So they were back to knife ear. Shems were all the same once their surface was scratched. Knife ear. Raviathan had a vivid image of just where he would stick that shem's knife. "What's imprinting?"

"I said go! A mabari with this breeding is meant for a warrior." He pulled at her collar again, eliciting a yelp. Raviathan didn't think she was hurt so much as distressed. She was such a sweet dog, too. Thinking it better not to cause the dog any confusion, he left.

Were shems all the same? Just because Duncan was a good man didn't mean they all were. Shems could be pleasant enough when they wanted something, like getting their lives saved, but should an elf forget his place, humans were quick to pull his ears. Deciding there was no use dwelling on it, Raviathan continued to the practice area.

The clearing was divided into three main areas: archery practice, sword on dummy practice, and a section for sparring with wooden weapons. Of the three, sparring brought back the most memories for Raviathan. His training had always been with his mother, so watching a sparring match from an outside perspective made him review his techniques in a new light.

Most of the combatants were sword and shield fighters, or sword and board as his mother called it. Their style was completely different from Raviathan's own two weapon system, which may have explained the discrepancies he saw, but to Raviathan, the fighters appeared clumsy. Their footwork was shoddy to say the least, heavy and inflexible, more like a lumbering ox trudging through a muddy field than warriors trained to battle. Worse than that, their attacks were slow. Perhaps that was deliberate, but Raviathan couldn't see any benefit. These were warriors going into battle and should already have the necessary muscle memory down. The fighters also left a number of vulnerable areas open if only their opponent was clever enough to exploit them.

Confused by the inadequacy of the warriors, Raviathan turned to study the other knights practicing with dummies. Most were also sword and shield, but he did spy one knight who used a large claymore in a two handed style. Taking the opportunity, Raviathan studied the man's swings and defense. The sword was powerful, no doubt, but it was a slow style of fighting. Raviathan shifted unconsciously as he mentally placed himself in the position of the wooden dummy. He thought of ducking or swaying to avoid the blade, using his movement to take advantage of the knight's many openings.

For the first time, Raviathan wondered why anyone would choose to study a two-handed weapon. The power wasn't worth the excessive slowness or vulnerability the weapon demanded. Raviathan chewed his lip in thought. Armor only protected so much. Why would anyone choose to give up the flexibility and quickness of two weapon fighting? As he watched the soldiers, he mused that humans as a whole lacked the speed and agility of an elf. At least, from this sample they did, and that was also true of the Arl of Denerim's guards. If all they had was strength, best to focus on that.

When Raviathan turned to examine the archers, he realized more than a few of the soldiers were staring at him. This again? As he looked about, though, he realized he hadn't seen a single elf in the camp. Redcliffe had elves, didn't it? These men must have seen an elf before. Then Raviathan was struck with the realization that he had never met an elf from Redcliffe. Marriages were arranged with every alienage and most towns in Ferelden. He had met elves from Lothering, Gwaren, West Hills, all corners of Ferelden, but not one from Redcliffe. A chill went down Raviathan's spine. Why in the Maker's name were there no elves from Redcliffe?

"You there. Those sticks on your back just for show?" The soldier who addressed him had brown hair plastered to his skull from the helmet he had been wearing. Otherwise his features were large in a relatively young face.

The soldier didn't sound unfriendly, but Raviathan's guard was up. He wondered if he should shout for Duncan, though that seemed as silly as much as tactful at this point. The soldiers hadn't done anything but stare and address him, but there were a lot of these men taking an interest.

"I've used them before," Raviathan said.

"He came with that Grey Warden," another soldier said. That statement caused a round of murmurs to rise from the gathering knights.

"Grey Warden, eh?" the flat haired knight said. "You his servant then?"

"His recruit."

"Heh. Haven't heard of elves fighting with the Grey. What say you to a little practice? See what makes a Grey Warden so special?"

"With you?"

"Yeah," the flat haired knight responded.

Raviathan wasn't sure he was reading the humans correctly. There was a touch of hostility to their gazes, but that could just be men issuing a challenge, the typical competitiveness that most men had. Some of the men glared while others looked on with curiosity. The squire Gage had said wearing his weapons openly could make him a target for men who would want to take an elf down a peg. Was that the reason for the challenge? Or was it his status as a Grey Warden recruit that intimidated them into proving themselves?

Whatever their motivation, Raviathan had seen these men spar. One on one, he was sure he could beat them. "Alright. A friendly match then?"

"What else?" the knight returned with a lopsided grin. Raviathan studied him, not sure if there was genuine friendliness in the smile or a hard challenge. Humans were still hard to read most of the time, but considering what he knew of shems, Raviathan was certain the knights would try a trick or two before he left the camp.

Of the wooden weapons, there were no small practice blades to simulate Raviathan's dagger. Instead, Raviathan took the shortest 'sword' out of the rack. He tested his two choices with a few swings. Like his own practice weapons from when his mother trained him, the wooden swords were heavier than regular steel in order to build up strength. Lead or iron in the hollow of the weapon gave it weight but also changed the balance of the sword. The short sword would already be awkward while the poorly integrated metal further reduced the weapon's effectiveness. This would be more of a challenge than Raviathan anticipated.

The rest of the soldiers gathered in a loose circle. Their scrutiny bothered Raviathan more than the awkward sword weight. Not only was he still getting used to being the only elf in a land overrun with humans, now he was the exclusive focus of their attention. Neither fact boded well. "May I have your name?" Raviathan asked the knight whose helmet was back to flattening his hair.

"Call me Arrol, if you will. And you, ser?"

"Rav."

Arrol was a sword and shield man, already prepared to spar. Raviathan rotated his neck to loosen it and did his best to ignore the calls of the watching soldiers. He faced his opponent with a sideways stance, his weapons raised in the ready. The stance was defensive, inviting the enemy's first strike. Raviathan remembered that the shield was as much a weapon as the sword, having been bashed by one during the attack on the Arl of Denerim's estate. Best to stay away from the man's shield, but he would likely be expecting that.

Did darkspawn use shields? Duncan had said they didn't think, at least, not as conscious creatures. They communicated. That required thought, or did they communicate the way bees did? Would learning to fight against an enemy who used a sword and shield be useful against the darkspawn?

"What are you waiting for, Warden?" The use of the title was taunt rather than respect.

"I fight darkspawn, not soldiers. Darkspawn don't wait because they do not know fear."

A rise of calls echoed from the soldiers at the jibe. Raviathan could see Arrol's grin through the slit of his helmet. The longer he was away from the alienage, the more Raviathan wished he could read shems better. Was this Arrol a good sport about the tease or…

The soldier rushed forward, his sword raised to slam into Raviathan's side. Raviathan jumped to the side to avoid the sword, his off-hand weapon striking the wooden blade, sending it high. Quickly, he stepped back in with a blow to the rear of the soldier's helmet, pivoting to keep his focus on his enemy. Raviathan hadn't struck hard, not for lack of ability but to minimize any damage he would do. Head wounds were serious, and this was only a practice after all. The soldier would have real enemies soon enough and would need a functioning brain. Well, assuming these soldiers had functioning brains.

More hoots arose from the gathering crowd. Instead of a loose circle of men, they now stood shoulder to shoulder. Raviathan worried about the crowd. Not only was he a stranger, he now realized he could be insulting this Arrol in front of his compatriots. Should he let the knight win then? Try and make him look good? No, Raviathan dismissed the idea. Arrol had asked for the fight. If he lost, that was his problem.

Arrol swung around, his sword held away in a wide angle. Raviathan's mother would have had him do sit ups until he couldn't feel his torso for being so careless. Arrol charged again in the exact same manner. Raviathan had only a split second to decide if the trap was a fake to get him to try the same maneuver and be taken or if the soldier was hoping Raviathan would recognize the trap and try a different tactic.

Raviathan put a leg back as if to side step again. Arrol's rush wasn't out of control as it had been the first time, but he didn't seem to recognize Raviathan wasn't moving in the exact same way as the first attack either. When the soldier closed in, Raviathan sprang forward and pivoted to the soldier's shield side, then rammed his shoulder into the shield. If it could bash one way, why not the other? The soldier's feet tangled in his sudden change of direction, his momentum turning into a sliding fall along the mud and stone earth.

Was this some trick that he couldn't figure out? Surely the Redcliffe soldiers were not this incompetent. Maybe this was a squire after all. If so, Raviathan felt like an ass for trouncing the boy instead of helping him develop.

"Here. How about me, Warden?"

Raviathan turned to see the two-handed swordsman he had been studying before. This soldier had broad muscles, a bigger target who had a lot more force. Hard eyes glared from a wide, deeply lined face darkened with thick stubble. This whole situation was going pear-shaped. "I understand you are off to march soon. Perhaps another time."

Boos sounded all around him in the gathered circle. He had a wall of shems around him, all roused and ready. Bloody Maker's ass. He should have bowed out from the first match. Now he would look a coward and fool if he called for Duncan. That is, if Duncan could hear him over the rabble.

"Come on, knife ear. Promise I won't damage that pretty face of yours."

Heat rose in Raviathan's cheeks. As if 'knife ear' wasn't bad enough, why did every damn shem have some 'pretty' comment ready? In response, Raviathan stretched out his arms, swords low, and gave the soldier a short bow. The soldier grinned, stalking around the living circle with a wooden sword ready. Raviathan took his side facing position, pivoting to track the soldier's movement.

As before, when the attack came, it was a sudden fury of movement. The sword sailed overhead, straight for Raviathan's shoulder at the base of his neck. He reversed his stance to be on the other side of the sword's arc, narrowly escaping the sword's path as the wood swooshed inches from his face. Taking advantage of the soldier's opening, Raviathan stepped in to jab the soldier's side. The man's elbow shot out. Surprised, Raviathan barely had time to recognize the maneuver. The elbow caught him, a graze, but enough to tell him this man wasn't pulling his attacks.

Laughter erupted from the circle of onlookers. Whether from the silly back arching dodge Raviathan was forced to do to escape the elbow, or from his surprise at the attack, Raviathan couldn't tell.

Interesting tactic though. Taking a different view, Raviathan realized the two-handed sword gave the man greater reach while improvised hand attacks kept him competitive at close range. Excited, Raviathan returned to his standard position. At least he was learning in this fight.

The soldier readied his next attack, a wide horizontal arc aimed for Raviathan's side. Raviathan crouched with his main sword sliding the blade high, using the soldier's momentum to again expose an opening. To his shock, the soldier pivoted quickly, increasing the heavy momentum of the sword. Raviathan sprang from his crouch away from the blade. Not fast enough. The soldier had been aiming for him in the low position. He couldn't adapt quickly enough to follow Raviathan, but he did manage a sound crack against Raviathan's calf.

For a second, Raviathan thought his leg might be broken. Raucous cheers erupted, but they sounded distant compared to the pain that simultaneously numbed his leg and burned. The warrior hadn't paused to let him recover though. Raviathan's attention snapped to the soldier, the great sword already coming for him. Raviathan back peddled as he parried. The soldier pressed him, nearly at a charge.

Speed. Control the battle. Raviathan was letting this man use his muscle to his advantage and taking away his own agility. Since his leg was clearly not broken, Raviathan twisted to the side. The soldier followed, but Raviathan kept dancing out of the way. This soldier was tricky, but he lacked flexibility. Raviathan kept the man twisting around, placing himself where the soldier couldn't attack. This time, when Raviathan closed for an attack, he was prepared for the elbow that struck out. Raviathan bent back with the elbow, taking the hit, but slamming his sword against the back of the soldier's knee. The soldier fell with a thud, his eyes wide when the tip of Raviathan's short sword pressed against the underside of his jaw.

"Yield?"

"Aye," the man huffed.

Raviathan kept the sword against the soldier's jaw. He pressed a little harder. "Don't call me knife ears."

"Aye, Warden," he rasped.

Raviathan nodded then stepped away. To his surprise, the wall of soldiers cheered him. He expected boos or resentment, but no, they actually cheered for him. He wasn't quite sure what to do. Of the various faces, Arrol's caught his eye. The man was young, and in review, was likely a squire. More than that, he wouldn't meet Raviathan's eyes, and Raviathan felt an unexpected pang of shame war with a flash of anger.

However distracting the cheering and Arrol were, Raviathan was on the ready. That soldier has shown a level of cunning that kept a man alive through year after year of battle. When the downed soldier lunged for him, Raviathan leapt up out of his grasp, his sword swinging to club the man's forearm. To his credit, the soldier made no noise even though he must have been in pain. Exasperated, Raviathan thumped the soldier's helmet. "You idiot. You've got a battle coming up. I was trying not to hurt you."

Duncan's laugh rang through the crowd. "And that's why I chose him, Eamon."

Raviathan went to his mentor, warmed and slightly abashed at the praise. "Um, we should get going, shouldn't we, Duncan? Long miles ahead and all?"

"How's your leg? Do you need to rest it?"

"It's fine. We should go."

Duncan squinted at his odd behavior but let it go. He and Eamon shook hands, Eamon giving Raviathan a respectful nod that completely caught him off guard.

Once they started leaving, Raviathan took Duncan's elbow to rush him out of the camp. "Rav. What in the Maker's name has gotten into you?"

Raviathan cast a glance back over his shoulder then started jogging, forcing Duncan along with him. A holler of panic rose from camp. Shouts and laughter followed.

"What?"

"Would you hurry?"

"Rav, you tell me what's going on right now."

Raviathan pressed his lips together, sent another glance at the camp, but did not slow. "That soldier. The two-hander. I, ah, knocked him down."

"I saw."

"Into a pile of red ants."

"On purpose?"

"He called me knife ears. And he was mean."

Duncan sighed, caught between wanting to laugh and worry that his newest recruit was going to be a source of endless difficulties for the Wardens. He was brought out of his thoughts by Raviathan's question. "Duncan, why are there no elves in Redcliffe?"

"How do you know that?"

"I didn't see any in the camp, not even servants to tend animals or pack. And there's never been an elf from Redcliffe in the alienage."

Duncan murmured deep in his throat. "The arlessa keeps a few as personal servants in the castle, elves she brought with her from Orlais. I believe that most of the elves, if not all, were taken by the Orlesians as slaves during the occupation or fled to the Dalish. You'll note that all of the soldiers were male. Orlesians disapprove of women in combat, an attitude that marks Redcliffe's values from the rest of the nation to this day. Come. I know a path south of the Imperial Highway that will save us a number of miles. And perhaps keep any revenge minded soldiers away," Duncan said with a shake of his head. "We'll be at Ostagar soon."


	25. Strange Bedfellows – Out Of Hiding

The afternoon rain had subsided leaving a crystalline night of pure clean air and freezing cold. They were miles past Lothering, making up time by using a hunter's trail through the Hinterlands that Duncan was familiar with. The camp they used was well established with two logs set around a rock lined fire pit. Once the tree needles had been brushed away to prevent accidental fires, the clearing was ideal. Trees provided a partial break from the constant chilled wind, and there was ample flat space for their tent. The Imperial Highway was only a half mile off, so with this route they would be at Ostagar by midmorning.

Huddled before the fire, Raviathan shivered, his breath visible like the smoke of a sleeping dragon. The makeshift poncho was helping, but Ferelden's cold had a way of penetrating through the warmest of furs. Fingers numb beyond feeling, Raviathan had to concentrate on watching the needle so he didn't prick himself. Keeping his eyes on the flashing needle, he asked, "Duncan, how do you evaluate recruits? What do you look for? And would you give the pot a stir?"

"This smells good. There's skill, of course, though I value potential more. Skills can always be developed. As for personality, hard to say, Rav. There isn't one ideal Warden. We look for courage, a willingness to sacrifice, thoughtfulness in difficult situations, all of which you've demonstrated. Choosing recruits is more art and developed instinct rather than science. I know many Commanders who have their own methods, and most disagree with each other. I've heard long discussions arguing various points, but people are much more than a collection of discreet traits. What's worked for me is instead of thinking what I would need from an individual Warden, think of what I need from a group. Wardens need tacticians as much as muscle. The more varied your Wardens, the more resources you have at your disposal."

Raviathan frowned as he adjusted the shirt he was working on. "You said you tried to get a mage from the Circle. If a mage joins the Wardens, doesn't that make them an apostate? How do you keep them safe from templars?"

Wincing slightly from a knotted old scar that stretched across his back, Duncan straightened. Magic was often a sore spot with many who were new to the Order. Duncan had a friend when he was a street thief in Val Royeaux who had some minor talent. That had been his first introduction to magic. He never feared it the way most men did. His openness made working with Fiona easier. Being an elf had set her apart more than being a mage had.

Experienced Grey Wardens learned to value their mages for their ability to heal or inflict great damage from a distance. Luckily, Raviathan didn't sound hostile about the possibility of working with mages, only curious. "Mages are highly valued but difficult to come by. The Circle does keep a tight rein; however, once a mage joins the Wardens, they are unbound by Chantry regulations. There was a mage who had promise but was made tranquil before I could recruit her."

"Made tranquil?"

"It is a process I am unfamiliar with, but it takes the magical ability away from a mage," Duncan said. Raviathan shook his hand when the needle accidentally pricked his skin then stuck his slender finger in his mouth. His eyes reflected the orange in the fire along with his own unique turquoise, refracting light much like cat eyes. The way elven eyes flashed in low light made them appear more alien than during the day, or more beautiful depending on one's preferences. No matter how closely elves resembled humans, moments like this reminded Duncan that elves were a creature of a wholly different nature.

The tranquil girl's eyes had lost the luminescence that marked the elven race. Her empty gaze haunted Duncan's memory like a lurking shadow. Mages like Neria were desperately needed now, but the loss of her soul depressed Duncan more than if she had died. "Tranquility also takes away their emotions and the ability to dream."

"I didn't know that was possible." Perhaps mages made him nervous after all. Duncan stirred the pot again not letting the lad notice his scrutiny. Raviathan continued his sewing, intent on his work. "Why did they do that to her? Is the practice common?"

"There was some business about an escaping blood mage. She helped the mage, and the Knight-Commander of the Templars made her a tranquil as punishment. As for how common the practice is, I couldn't say. The punishment in that case was considered exceptionally harsh. The First Enchanter was outraged. What are your feelings on the subject?"

"Of magic or being made tranquil?"

"Both."

"I think magic could be useful," he admitted. "The tranquil. It takes away their emotions?"

"Yes," Duncan replied. "Once you have met one, you can spot them easily. They cannot love or feel hate. There is no joy, but there is no sorrow."

Raviathan said very quietly, "It sounds like a nightmare."

"They do not complain."

Raviathan's voice stayed very low as if they were discussing something taboo. "Why would they? They can't even feel the injustice done to them."

"There are a few who undergo the process voluntarily."

There was a small, "em" of discomfort, and Raviathan put his finger back in his mouth from another needle prick.

"Perhaps you should leave your sewing for another time."

"You're right. I can't feel my fingers anymore."

"So you object to tranquility?"

"I…" He began but stopped with his lips pursed. "If the Maker made them that way, with magic, it isn't right to take it away."

"What about blood mages?"

Raviathan was quiet for moment. "I can understand why the templars would want to do that to mages, and there are mages who can be a danger to others, but the cost is too high. They aren't even people anymore."

"The tranquil I've spoken to would disagree. They do not have emotions, but they have minds. They feel physical pain as you do."

"But what is the point of it? Would you call that a life? It's existence, but that isn't the same thing. They can't feel rage or hate, but they can't feel compassion either. I'm not saying one's feelings should take the place of reason, but that's wrong. Shianni is in pain, but if she were tranquil, she wouldn't even care. Tranquil can be… violated and abused, and just because they aren't emotionally hurt by it doesn't mean it isn't abuse."

Duncan didn't say anything as he thought about Raviathan. The more he got to know the young elf, the more he cared for him. Most his age were still working out their belief system and were often impetuous or impatient. Raviathan was just the opposite. He was curious but considerate, a balance of thoughtful and passionate. With a small squeeze in his chest, he mentally recited his prayer. Maker, please let him live. Duncan was brought out of his brief reverie when Raviathan asked, "What's your opinion on the subject? It seems you favor mages."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" asked Duncan. As much as Raviathan liked listening to the histories he told, Duncan enjoyed hearing Raviathan's thought process.

"Because you wanted to recruit a mage. You've asked for my opinions on blood mages and the tranquil, but haven't told me you agree with it."

"I haven't said I disagree with it either." The thickening stew bubbled around the edges sending out succulent aromas. Duncan set the bread by the fire to warm.

"Do you?"

There was more challenge in the question than curiosity. Duncan knew the elf had read him correctly and was pleased. "The darkspawn pose a greater threat than anything else. I would recruit anyone I thought fit to be able to fight them, including blood mages. Unless there is absolute reason to think they will become abominations, making them tranquil is a waste. We don't have a mage now, which would have been an invaluable resource."

"How would you get evidence that a mage would become an abomination?"

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "I suppose that would be difficult."

There was a bitter edge to Raviathan's smile. "It's like convicting someone of a crime they haven't committed. 'But I didn't steal the apple.' 'No, but you looked like you were going to.'"

"A fine point. I sometimes think the Chantry has too much control over the mages. I've seen abominations before, and they are horrendous things, but what we lose in the process is a terrible waste."

"Supper is ready." Raviathan filled Duncan's bowl with the wolf's share of the meal then filled his own bowl.

"Most people are afraid of mages." The meal the lad had made of their dried foodstuffs was remarkable.

Raviathan shrugged.

"You don't seem to be."

Raviathan finished chewing his mouthful in no hurry to answer. "I've friends and cousins taken to the Circle. We'd never hear from them again. One day, without warning, they were just gone. It was almost like they died. Sometimes children died of starvation or disease, but we could see that coming. Prepare for it. The first child I ever delivered, my little cousin Eldwyn, was taken a few years ago. Her birthday was coming up, and I made her a flute, was going to teach her to play. I know magic scares a lot of people, but it's no worse than a sword."

"Magic is a great deal more powerful than a sword."

"A noble is a great deal more powerful than any mage."

Dark whisperings started at the edges of Duncan's thoughts. He had been so engrossed in the discussion he hadn't noticed as the darkspawn had stalked them, probably centering on the taint that ran through Duncan's blood. He froze, casting out his senses to find a small band from the south headed for them. He guessed there were about four. Chiding himself for not being more careful this far south, he said quietly, "Darkspawn. Stay to the shadows on the north. Beware and do not approach."

Raviathan had been on alert the second Duncan's posture changed. The elf's brow knit in mild puzzlement, but he nodded taking Duncan's orders seriously. Raviathan moved slowly and low to the ground so as to not draw the eye. Duncan did the same going south. Though the sky was clear, the moon had not yet appeared. Everything was darkness and deep shadow. The elf's eyes would fare better than his, but his Warden senses and years of learning to fight blind would get him though this.

Sibilant hissing sounded through the taint. There was no doubt the hurlocks were coming for him. Four against one weren't the best odds he had had, especially since the low light worked against him. He cloaked in shadow to hide his tainted blood from the hurlocks, the cool grayness settling over him like a cloak. The hurlocks were far enough away that he could take his time moving through the forest and plan for his attack.

Circling around the band of darkspawn, he picked a spot that would limit their frontal attack. A path between a thicket and hillock would keep them from flanking him. Duncan picked up a few pine cones and tossed them in the path he wanted them to take. The darkspawn, wary when their quarry disappeared from their senses, chuckled at the sound and headed that way. Darkspawn weren't completely unthinking, but weak ones like these weren't great planners. They relied on the older darkspawn for that.

Having taken the bait, they walked single file through the narrow path with their weapons out. Duncan padded behind the last, careful of his step. Even without the taint he would have been able to smell them. They stank of rot and acidic bile. The taint in his blood crawled as he got near. If the dreams weren't enough proof, the drawing song of the Archdemon that hummed faintly in the background of his awareness would have been. The taint was pulling him, was starting to see his enemies as kin. He had only a few months before he would take the Calling or go mad as the taint warred to dominate him.

The darkspawn were uncertain, hissing suspicions. Time to act. Duncan grabbed the closest hurlock from behind, drawing his dagger across the creature's neck. The rot and bile sent grew strong as hot black blood leaked down his hand. It was just blood. He had felt taint fill blood before, but now his own blood reacted, like wasps crawling beneath his skin, stinging in their frustration to get out. He tossed the body forward, catching the next hurlock when the three remaining turned to face him. He kicked the body, knocking the off footed hurlock to the ground then rushed the next standing monster. Branches pulled at his armor, and he almost tripped from the uneven footing in the dark. He used the momentum to his advantage, plunging his sword deep into the standing hurlock's belly. He had to deflect an over head swing with his dagger, but another quick swipe and the hurlock was down.

Heat blossomed from his thigh. The hurlock at his feet had managed to shift the body enough to get a strike. He kicked the creature's face, hearing the jaw crunch and retreated a few steps to draw the last standing hurlock forward where he wouldn't have to contend with the downed one. The hurlock lunged forward with a snarl. Even in the low light Duncan could measure its face from the faint shine in its eyes. Darkspawn like this rarely had anything more than brute force on their side. It was easy to parry the creature's weapon wide then step in close for a strike. A second parry and strike.

The moon peaked above the pines, deepening shadows in the cold light. The white skin of the hurlock gleamed as black feted blood slowly gurgled out. Just behind the creature's shoulder, the grey skinned hurlock rose with pale grey eyes staring forward. Darkspawn had no souls. There was no more feeling in them than a corpse's blind eyes. Black windows into an empty house, but soulless as they were, there was a malevolent intelligence that stared back.

Duncan wasted no time in executing the darkspawn. A final strike to the nearest already sliced hurlock, then low kick to the one behind that popped a knee, and Duncan finished the job with a final thrust of his sword. The blood running down his thigh was cooling quickly in the chill night, and the wound started to sting. He limped quickly back to the camp so he could bandage the wound. At least there was a skilled healer waiting for him.

Two more! Horrified, Duncan felt the presence of two more darkspawn north of the little camp. Genlocks were the next most common darkspawn after hurlocks, little scuttling thieves who often cloaked in shadow. The moon wasn't bright enough to illuminate the forest floor, and he didn't want to chance a twisted ankle or jarred knee. He hoped Raviathan had enough sense and ability to stay hidden.

As if thinking his fear made it real, he realized it was the taint of two shrieks that now blazed in his awareness when they uncloaked. If hurlocks were foot soldiers, shrieks were elite stealth assassins. Cursing inwardly, Duncan tried to hurry. Branches snagged his armor, roots tangling his feet. Rav, stay safe, Duncan prayed. Stay hidden.

He slipped a few times on stones and kicked a rock. Pain shot into his toe. A screech like metal grading on slate ripped through the night, instantly setting Duncan's hair on end. No! That would tear anyone's concentration. They knew their prey, were hunting aggressively. A terrified yell of, "Duncan!" broke the night. Dear Maker no! The boy had no chance against a pair of shrieks. Duncan had lost so many potential recruits. At times it felt like the world had conspired against him. Not this one too. Not him.

The shrieks were moving for the ambush. Their thoughts carried through the taint like scorpions scuttling in Duncan's brain. They were heading back towards the camp, and he could feel the anticipation as one readied for an attack. The crack of bones echoed and an odd, sludgy sound came from the north past their campfire. Duncan's heart fell at the sound. The tiny sense of anticipation from the shriek was gone, scarcely felt to begin with. Raviathan was already lost. The poor boy. Duncan slowed as he stumbled into the lit clearing of their camp as a stab of depression warred with rage. That poor, sweet boy. And to be killed so brutally. He had grown used to losing men over the years either to the darkspawn or the Calling, but the sting of this one was unexpectedly sharp.

To his shock Raviathan stumbled, no, was thrown back, out of the thicker wood and into the clearing. He landed on his back, skidding over the slick pine needles. Blood covered one side of his face and neck, shining in the firelight. A narrow strip of white cheekbone glared from the mask of red. The shriek was there, its black skin melding with the shadows, but its long shark like rows of teeth and small eyes glowed orange in the firelight. It leaped with blinding quickness. The boy screamed, thrusting his hands forward.

The relief at seeing Raviathan alive tightened Duncan's chest, a pain that was all the worse with the knowledge he was too far away to save the elf now. Just a few seconds more and he could have made it. Damn it! He had the illusion of second chance thrown in his face. Now he would have to watch the boy savaged before him. Duncan's face twisted in a snarl as he rushed forward bent on revenge.

The shadows of the forest shrank back in sharp contrast to the blazing fire that erupted. The campground and forest were illuminated as if from a red sunset. A fifteen foot tongue of shimmering flame shot from Raviathan's hands straight into the shriek. It struck the creature full on. There was a sizzle and pop then the shriek started to screech. It clutched at its face, beat at its body, and writhed on the ground still on fire. The stench of burning flesh and boiling blood filled the air.

A mage. The boy was a mage. Duncan tried to wrap his mind around that fact as he walked up to the elf. The shriek had stopped moving. The corpse was a cracked, blackened thing and still on fire. Raviathan lay there staring at it. He was panting heavily as if he had just sprinted for miles, the whites around his eyes visible. Duncan could see no wound on the lad though the blood must be his as it was red. He stepped on the pine needles putting out the little fires before they spread then went to the elf. A mage.

"Rav?" The elf didn't even seem to see him. It wasn't until Duncan touched his shoulder did Raviathan react with a jerk.

Bright, flashing eyes stared up at him in terror. "Are there more?"

"No. They're all dead."

Raviathan's chest started to spasm as he looked back at the burnt husk. Duncan knelt behind him and put a supportive arm around the young elf. Raviathan clutched at him and kicked back so he was pressed tight into Duncan's chest. "It's all right. They're dead. All of them."

The young elf whimpered, turning to bury his head in Duncan's chest as a few hot tears slipped out. Duncan kept up the litany of assurances as he held the elf. Raviathan's aunt. She really was an apostate then. Had the two of them been hiding all those years? But could it have been raw talent that had gone unnoticed? A mage. To Duncan's relief it didn't take Raviathan long to recover once he was over the initial shock. Though still shaky, Raviathan wiped the tear streaks away with a trembling hand and stood. Drying blood covered half his face though there wasn't the hint of a scar, only a smear where his tears mingled with blood. The front of his armor bore a series of long claw marks from the shriek. Duncan got up, wincing at the wound in his thigh.

"You'r-re hurt?"

"My thigh. And I stubbed my foot."

Raviathan waved the fingers on his left hand in an intricate but graceful gesture, and emerald flames danced over Duncan's injuries. The relief from pain was immediate. So the boy was trained. Possibilities started flitting through Duncan's head too quick to form into anything concrete. A trained mage who could fight. Offensive spells and healing magic. And he had found the boy just as a blight was starting. Maybe the Maker did smile on him after all. "What happened to the other shriek?"

Even by the weak firelight Raviathan's visible skin was pale. He pointed to the woods then clutched his upper arms, seeming like a child lost in the wilderness. The look Duncan was getting was cautious and fearful. That was puzzling. Why would Raviathan fear him? Picking up a half burning log, Duncan went into the woods in the direction Raviathan had pointed. Burning was still thick in the air, but Duncan was also getting the strong stench of darkspawn blood. As he ventured forward, the air became oily and thick. About ten yards away the ground squished. He raised the burning log as it slowly dawned on him what he was looking at. Bits of darkspawn were everywhere: shreds of organs, pieces of shattered bone, and an even coating of black blood on everything: tree trunks, pine needles, dirt, everything. It was a stunning display of gore. Damn.

Duncan returned to see Raviathan standing in the same spot, staring at the fire. He looked up when Duncan stepped out of the wood, and Duncan got the distinct impression that the lad was about to bolt. "How did you do that to the shriek?"

Raviathan bit his lips, watching Duncan warily. "Ih-" he stopped to clear his throat. "It's a spell. Makes living things explode."

Maker's blood! He hadn't even known that kind of spell existed. It was incredibly gruesome. With a sinking realization, he was now able to equate the wet sound from before with the bloody scene. Damn. Mysteries that had been bothering Duncan snapped away: Raviathan's extensive knowledge of the Fade, how his leg had not hurt after the sparing match, his skin that bore not the faintest scar from training. Valendrian had assumed Solyn had been involved in the same sorts of intrigue as Adaia, another trained rogue, but this? Maker's breath. "What's making you nervous, Rav?"

The elf swallowed, keeping his eyes focused unblinkingly on Duncan. "You can't tell anyone. I won't go to the Circle. I won't. If you try and make me I'll do something bad if I have to. I won't be put in a cage."

Duncan tried to keep from laughing, but he couldn't help a wide grin. "Why in the Maker's name would I take you to the Circle? I was hoping to recruit a mage, and now I have one. This is most fortuitous."

Fear left the elf replaced by caution. "You won't tell anyone?"

"Well, yes. I will." Seeing the elf's pained reaction Duncan elaborated, "We need a mage. You can't keep these abilities secret. What are you afraid of? Once you're a Grey Warden, the Circle can't touch you."

Raviathan bit his lips again. "What about the templars?"

"Grey Wardens submit to no one," Duncan reassured. "Once you're officially part of the Order, the templars and Chantry have no authority over you. Ever."

Shining blue emerald eyes regarded him from a mask of drying blood, measuring his words. "They can't hunt me?"

Pity filled Duncan. Raviathan had been afraid his whole life, had seen his kin taken away and aunt killed. "Never. Once you're Joined, you're a Grey Warden for life and submit to no one."

"You swear this?"

"Absolutely."

The elf sniffed, still trembling as he regarded the burnt shriek husk. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Slowly he nodded. Duncan studied him. The elf had been beyond rage to rescue his family, had been attacked and kidnapped by a mob, but the fear of the templars and Circle outweighed that. The poor boy really had been given a rough road to walk. Duncan tossed the burning log into the fire and went to the elf, making sure his steps were loud, then put a hand on the boy's trembling shoulder. "The templars, the Chantry, and the Circle will have no authority over you. I swear it, Rav." Raviathan turned into him then, and they were back to the trust they had before. Stronger than before.

"Solyn was an apostate then?"

"Yes." Raviathan shivered against him. "Trained by the house that owned her."

Knowing they were not about to get sleep any time soon, Duncan decided to pull up camp and continue towards Ostagar. Raviathan washed his face then helped pack up their tent. Journeying at night was worth it just to get away from the corpses. Raviathan acted as their eyes until they reached the Imperial Highway. The Highway was bright in the ghostly pale glow of the moon leaving the surrounding lands a black suggestions in contrast. It was well into the night when they were both exhausted enough to get some sleep.

Instead of leaving the Highway and setting up camp anew, they huddled together on one side of the road under their shared bedrolls. Duncan kept his back to the low wall as they settled in, front to front. Raviathan was completely cocooned in while Duncan had an opening to see out of if need be. The elf rested his head on Duncan's chest with his arms loosely around the man. Thankful that he would have another night without nightmares, Duncan rested his cheek on the elf's head, and Raviathan snuggled in. "What spells do you know, Rav?"

The elf was quiet for a moment. "I really won't be taken to the Circle?"

"No," Duncan said. "I promise. You may visit on Grey Warden duty in the future, but they can't force you to stay."

"And the templars?"

There was such fear in his voice. "No one is allowed to interfere with the Grey Wardens. Not even templars."

After another minute Raviathan asked, "How much do you know of magic?"

"Very little I'm afraid."

At the elf's silence, Duncan tightened his hold to reassure him and felt Raviathan relax into him. "There are four main schools of magic and each has an opposition. There's creation and entropy. I don't know any entropic spells, but from creative I know how to heal. Solyn made sure I knew as much as she did after my mom died. That's why I also know so much about herbalisum and healing in general, not just magic."

"Why did you learn medicine? Isn't magical healing enough?"

"Magical healing is powerful but limited. Healing magic works best for injuries, but there's a lot of things that can go wrong that aren't injuries. Diseases, infections, and poisons are difficult, and it's better to use different types of healing. Just throwing magic at a problem can sometimes make it worse. With some of those people in the village, I did use magic, usually to heal the deeper scars. That green light is residual energy from the Fade, but if I let the energy go slowly enough, or I keep it close to the body, it doesn't show up.

"Healing magic is also useful for finding out what's wrong. It helps me pinpoint what's blocked and why. That's how I knew it was a problem with the way that boy's bone healed. I did have to operate on him to get the pus and infected bone out, but I used healing magic to make sure the bone healed clean and straight and minimize scar tissue. The potion I told them to make will keep the infection from reappearing. He should be fine to walk in a week, but I couldn't let the parents know that. Too suspicious. They might stop making the potion for him if they think he's well, but he needs it."

The act of talking was helping Raviathan calm down. Duncan could feel that in the way the boy continued to loosen. He rubbed Raviathan's back and kissed his hair. The lad had risked himself with every patient he saw. Maker please let this boy live. "I didn't see you make the gestures to heal yourself."

"Don't need to gesture when the healing is internal, only if I need to project the spell. To diagnose someone, I just need to touch them."

"What else do you know?"

"I also know glyph magic."

"What is glyph magic?"

Raviathan shifted against the old warrior into a more comfortable position. The night was bitterly cold. Raviathan felt strange resting on a road, and one made of stone no less. It made Raviathan feel less real in a way, like he was temporary. There was something about roads that demanded movement, that only ghosts stopped like this, frozen as they were from the rest of the world. In an odd way, it was like they were rebelling from the road's insistence, but it continued to pull on him.

"Solyn told me all magic is written in the Maker's hand. It's his will that first gave it shape, and we channel that shape when we use his writing. Whenever I do a complex spell, or a spell that isn't just raw force, I need to shape the energy. When I move my fingers, I'm writing. You can't see it, but I do. It's like lines of light. Glyph magic is the purest form of that, and that's why you can see the glyphs written in the person's skin and under them. I can stop someone so they can't move, help protect a person, or throw back enemies.

"The other two schools are primal and spiritual. Primal was the fire spell. It's raw energy, but the stronger versions need to be focused. Primal can be time consuming because I have to pull and build up that energy. Spiritual is a hard school to define, but it essentially deals with energy of a different type. I guess the best way to think of the two schools is one is like Fade energy and the other is the energy of this plane. That…" Raviathan hesitated as he thought about the shriek, and it was Duncan's calm reassurance that made him continue. "The spell I used first tonight, that was spiritual. I turned the… sh-shhriek's living energy against itself. Fire is the only spell I know from the primal. Most of my spells are spiritual. Spiritual and creative spells are quiet, so that was easiest to learn in a crowded area like the alienage."

That made sense, thought Duncan. He was still trying to get used to the fact he had an apostate curled against him.

"I didn't want to say anything earlier about the Fade," Raviathan said, his breath hitching. "I know why you don't have the nightmares. I'm protecting you."

"Yes." Duncan closed his stinging eyes against the tireless southern wind. "I've known that but how?"

"In the Fade, I can bring you into my dream so that you aren't trapped by the demon's nightmare. It's not something I thought about, just reaction. Like it's natural to hold your breath under water."

"Demon's nightmare?"

"They feed off emotion. When we're weak or under pressure, we're vulnerable to their influence. That's what causes nightmares. They pull us into a section of the Fade, compound the emotion they need, and feed."

Once Raviathan became a Grey Warden and understood what the taint was, they would have to talk again. Would Raviathan still be able to protect him from the nightmares when they both shared the taint? Was this the reason why Grey Wardens couldn't be married? Would a spouse or lover hide Wardens from the nightmares that signaled the Calling until it was too late? "Can non-mages do that? Protect from nightmares?"

"Any elf can, but we're closer to the Fade. That's why families sleep close together during times of trouble. A demon can pull in one soul, but the more souls that are together, the harder it is for them to lure us. I don't know about humans. Duncan, you're the first human I've ever really talked to. If you don't know, how would I?"

"I haven't heard of this before. Is it a property of magic then?"

"Apart from Solyn, I've never met anyone who was trained in magic. I don't know what it's like for other people. Because I'm a mage, I'm better at controlling the Fade. But all elves have a more intense relationship with the Fade." Raviathan voice cracked. "N-Ness and I shared dreams."

"You weren't just dreaming about her?"

"Our souls were together in the Fade," Raviathan said, and Duncan felt the elf tremble. A silvery tear track caught in the moonlight. "There was one we shared often. We were by a lake in a deep forest. I would gather leaves and twigs for her, and she would make them into swans. She could turn the leaves into white feathers and everything. When the she placed a swan in the water, it would come alive. They would rise up, flapping their wings when they took their first breath, then swim about the lake. Duncan, I miss her so much. I've been trying not to think about her, but Maker, I miss her. There are times I think about her, and I don't think I can breathe anymore."

"I'm sorry, Rav." He was sure Raviathan was still crying though there was little indication beyond the elf's trembling. "All I can say is that she's safe because of you. It was a great sacrifice, but you saved her."

Raviathan nodded but didn't speak after that.

The taint was more pervasive, more powerful than any demon. Simply being an elf wouldn't have stopped the taint induced nightmares, not when the taint came from within Duncan's own blood. That the lad's magic was stronger than the taint gave Duncan hope for the coming war against the blight, even if it meant destroying the last bit of peace he had found. Duncan rested his eyes not expecting to fall asleep, but sleep came nonetheless as his head dipped down to rest on the elf.

~o~O~o~

The growing light of pre dawn awakened Duncan who looked about, crusty and roughened from the night's cold wind. If he hadn't had the elf's extra heat, he might have woke frozen to the wall. Aside from his numb feet, sore back and neck, he was relatively toasty. He rubbed Raviathan's back who woke with a little, "mmph?" then stretched. Like a cat, he ended up just as firmly ensconced as before.

"Wake up." Duncan said, his voice cracking. Raviathan squirmed in playful annoyance, pretending to ignore him.

"Mmph," the elf grunted and went back to Duncan's chest as if he would go back to sleep, eliciting a chuckle from the old warrior. He removed a few pine needles that had remained in Raviathan's hair, tousled from the wind and sleep. Large blue emerald eyes smiled at him. Raviathan kissed him, a peck on the lips. Though startled, Duncan's first impression was one of softness, and however strange, the kiss was not entirely unpleasant.

"Rav," Duncan began a warning.

"I'm sorry. I know humans don't do that. It just felt natural. If it had been Valendrian…" Raviathan sighed. "There are so many new rules to learn. Makes me feel like I'm being twisted and bent into an unnatural shape, like the plants nobles have in their gardens."

With regret, Duncan wondered if he had indulged the elf's affections too much. Raviathan wasn't going to have him to lean on much longer. Some of the elven habits that made Raviathan and easy companion were going to make his adjustment to the life of a Grey Warden difficult. But then, Raviathan was already adjusting quickly considering how different the world outside the alienage was. "I couldn't tell last night, but we're probably only an hour away from Ostagar."

There were spots of red on Raviathan's face where he had been leaning on Duncan's chest. He nodded, got to his feet with a wince, then helped pull Duncan up. The bed rolls were stowed away, and the two continued on, shivering in the morning frost.

The movement helped warm stiff muscles though Duncan was sure he was going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day. Raviathan coughed to clear his throat then hesitantly asked, "Duncan? Do you think I'm a coward?"

"What?" he asked looking over at the elf. "No. Cowards don't threaten armed men or storm heavily guarded estates. Why would you ask that?"

"It just seems that I've done a lot of crying lately." Raviathan added quietly, "and the shrieks."

"Ah, my lad, don't fret over that," Duncan said resting an arm over Raviathan's shoulders. "It's been a tough time for you. Lots of changes and new experiences. Once you've found your feet again, I'm sure you'll feel like your old self. As for the shrieks, those are some of the most terrifying of the four darkspawn types. Their ugly, fast, and vicious. That you killed two, on your own no less, is quite an accomplishment for anyone let alone as your first darkspawn kills. You should be proud of yourself, Rav. The Maker smiled on this land when you were born."

A light blush warmed Raviathan's cheeks. "Thanks, Duncan."

The old warrior kept his arm around the elf's shoulders. It was for warmth as much as anything he told himself.


	26. Plans and Tactics – Echoes

_A/N: nsfw_

* * *

"South of the fortress is where the main battles have been fought and where the bulk of the hoard lies. The Grey Wardens' encampment is in the lower wing of the fortress. You'll join them once you're officially part of the Order." Raviathan was listening to Duncan but couldn't help look up and about at the old fortress. It was possibly the largest structure he had ever seen up close. It was like they were rats crawling through a human's house as they entered the wide entrance from the Imperial Highway. Massive arches, some broken with age, rose overhead, casting long shadows into the keep. The land was slowly retaking the fortress with the speed of a glacier. Enough earth had swept up from the valley below that vegetation and even trees had found a home for their roots. The trees were over a century old, and as they grew unchecked, their roots would gradually pull the stone of the fortress apart.

The sharp sound of steel horse shoes on stone clattered from further inside the fortress wing as a small band of warriors rode towards them. Duncan was clearly surprised to see the familiar fair face approach them just as they got to the entrance at Fort Ostagar. The lead human's heavy golden armor clanked as he rode with careless enthusiasm to meet them. "Ho there, Duncan," the pale blonde man said, swinging down easily from his heavily armored destrier. One of the mounted guards dismounted so he could hold the reigns of the king's horse.

"King Cailan," Duncan said recovering himself, and Raviathan thought he heard a note of discomfort. "I hope all has been going well in my absence."

"You've been gone for months now. I almost suspected you were skipping out on the blight." The king's voice sounded like champagne, light and fine yet essentially frivolous. It made him sound younger than his years and was at odds with his large heavy plate armor and imposing stature.

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan replied with solemn dignity. Raviathan wasn't sure, but it seemed that Duncan sounded sad. What had caused that?

"Good that you arrived when you did," the king continued blithely. "We've won every battle against the darkspawn since you've been gone, four in all, and expect another attack shortly. This will be a glorious battle with a full horde, and if you're right about the archdemon, the first blight to touch Fereldan soil. We'll show all the rest of Thedas our might when we put an end to the darkspawn in such record time." The king immediately set to posing with Duncan as if for an audience. Cailan cut an impressive figure with his long golden hair matching his armor. He was quite handsome too, pale with a shadow of dark stubble and clear blue eyes, but Raviathan got the distinct impression of an eager puppy rather than a king. "The other Wardens told me you found a promising new recruit, and from an alienage no less. I take it this is he?"

Duncan's dark if weary voice seemed impressive, as if it had more gravity, next to Cailan's light tenor. It set their ages apart quickly and made the king sound more like a boy than ever. What had caused this change in Duncan? Wasn't he looking forward to meeting with the King again? It was and honor after all, but then maybe he was use to it. "Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty."

"There's no need to be so formal, Duncan," the king replied lightly. "We're to be comrades in arms after all. Your name… let's see, what was it? Riv- something? Rivtan. Yes, that's it."

Raviathan averted his gaze down in deference. The king's presence hadn't been a problem as long as they discussed other things, but when he became the king's focus, he felt a wash of nerves. He wished he could keep his defiance and say something withering like, 'I am no friend of yours, human lord', but this was a king. An actual king. _The_ king. Nobles took no notice of elves as rightful people, never bothered with names, and this was the king. The whole thing was far too strange. If a dragon fell out of the sky Raviathan would have felt more normal. "Thank you. Yes, Your Majesty. Um, everyone calls me Rav." Oh Maker, had he just thanked the king for not knowing his name? Stupid, stupid, stupid. If Shianni could see him, she'd laugh her… and then Raviathan remembered that her laughter was gone.

The king had an easy chuckle which did nothing for Raviathan's nerves. "From where do you hail, Rav?"

Everything about this seemed terribly awkward. "The Denerim alienage."

"Tell me," Cailan said with innocence pouring out of his guileless blue eyes, "what is it like? My guards all but forbid me from going there."

Raviathan's cheeks warmed. King or no, this man was a shem, and shems didn't care about his kind. As a king, he should know the state of his people, and all he did was play at war. Raviathan knew there was no reason for the man to lie, but that he could have such an easy disregard for the troubles and injustices of elves reminded him of everything he hated about shems. He should know how bad it is when his own guards, the men who supposedly took orders from _him_, would not allow him to set foot inside the high walls. As if he truly wanted to go. They're all hypocrites. Except for Duncan. "My people eat rats to keep from a slow, starving death. As a child I watched guards kill my kin, defenseless women and babes, with impunity."

"I… Maker's breath. I had no idea." The king's astonishment was a vitriolic victory for Raviathan. Let the shem pose some more when he couldn't hide from the accusation.

"Why should you? How can you know what you never see? We live in poverty and despair, and no one cares." He still couldn't look at the king. Duncan shot Raviathan a warning look. He was overstepping his bounds badly by instigating with the king. Rage flared in Raviathan's sea storm eyes for an instant. Looking at his mentor, Raviathan relented, pursing his lips and looking away. He respected Duncan enough to let this battle go, but he was glad to feel his spine again.

Duncan turned to the king. "Your Majesty, we should discuss events at Highever."

Cailan shook his head, his lips pressed together. "We received word a fortnight ago. Howe thinks he can get away with this because of a blight. He'll know the King's justice soon as we are able."

"Only a fortnight?" Duncan mouth opened in shock. "This happened months ago. Surely someone would have spoken of it."

"One would think," replied Cailan, the shadow of distrust marking an otherwise innocent face. "The messengers we have received were from the lords taking in refugees but not a word from Highever. It's as if the whole of the teyrnir has disappeared into the Fade. Howe is biding time, but for what purpose, I cannot say. He must know his actions cannot stand and is delaying the inevitable."

"Then you do not know of the fate of the Couslands?"

"Did Howe not take them as hostages?"

"All the Couslands at Highever were killed." Duncan frowned, putting a hand to his lips as he thought.

"What? You know this?" Cailan's eyes went wide. "Even Fergus' wife and son?"

"I was there, Your Majesty. Howe's soldiers committed the most barbarous actions."

Cailan walked to the ledge of the fortress to view the wide, fog shrouded valley below. Behind him, the guards glanced at each other nervously. "Fergus made it here a month ago, one of the first to answer our call to arms. He has been scouting in the Wilds for weeks now, and we haven't heard back from him. I've no way to get news to him." He turned back to Duncan. "Are you sure all were killed?"

"Your Majesty, I saw this with my own eyes. Bryce and Eleanor was killed in front of me by Howe's men. I had to make my escape before I could confirm Aedan Cousland, but he had sustained mortal wounds when we were separated. The rest were killed in their beds."

"At least one is still alive, and let's hope for their youngest." Cailan shook his head regretfully. "I don't see how Rendon plans to get away with this. Unless he suspects we will be too weakened from fighting with the darkspawn. He will be in for a great surprise then."

"Is Urien Kendells in the camp?"

"Kendells?" Puzzlement at the question caused a slight frown to form between the king's smooth brow. "He died in the first battle. We sent a messenger to Denerim to have Vaughan come in his place, but apparently there are bandits or some other problem keeping them from getting through as well."

"His son Vaughan is dead, Your Majesty."

The king looked at him for a stunned second. "I go to war and suddenly the whole country goes mad. Pity about Vaughan. A little rough in my estimation but loyal." Cailan waved a hand. "Appointing a new arl is something for Anora to deal with. I will hear more about this matter later, but for now we have a war to attend to."

'A little rough'? Raviathan watched the king carefully. Cailan had already moved on from the news of Highever and Denerim. Raviathan wasn't sure if this was a good measure of the man or not. It could be that Cailan focused the task at hand, but the attack on Highever was a major event that he was disregarding. Two months and little word meant the plot probably reached to this camp, that the king had enemies who were keeping him in ignorance. How could he not care? Did he even realize the implications or that? Of course, there was little Cailan could do about the Couslands here. It made sense to keep his mind on the coming battles, but a whole teyrn family had been killed. That would have a huge impact on a good portion of the country. Perhaps the king had more depth than he let on. So far childish and thoughtless were the main adjectives Raviathan applied to him. Fear and uncertainty tightened Raviathan's shoulders. Well intentioned or not, he would not trust this fool.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent," Cailan said. "After being in the company of the Wardens all morning, Loghain is probably a hair's breadth away from sending out a search party. Likely he means to bore me with more of his maps and figures. The man's fascination with them is endless."

Duncan said with impatience starting to enter his voice, "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week. He believes the attacks from the Avvars near an end."

"Ha!" Cailan replied with a smirk turning his face hard. "Eamon just wants in on the glory."

The stern look Duncan was giving Cailan spoke more of his frustration than his voice. "Eamon has never been one to seek glory, Your Majesty."

"He has to do something," Cailan said. "The Bannorn thinks well of him, if they think of him at all. But come the spring's Landsmeet he won't have the persuasive powers he needs to raise more men for the Avvar attacks unless he proves he has some military might. The barbarians have apparently not warmed up to his endless compromises after all these years. And for that, he needs to make a name for himself here."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Raviathan blurted out, "Was Howe expected to bring forces here?"

Cailan turned to him in surprise, but Raviathan read only interest in his face and not the derision he was used to from humans. "Well, yes. They were due a month ago, but we thought they had been delayed because of bad weather. Though with the coup at Highever, there shall be no trace of Howe or his forces here."

"And you're planning of disposing him?"

The king cocked his head at the elf. "In all likelihood. I certainly cannot allow this sort of treasonous action to go without reprimand." Raviathan forced himself to not squirm under the king's scrutiny. "Why do you ask?"

"I…" don't lose your courage now, "I know little enough of these matters, Your Majesty. It just seems that he has given you a reason to take control of his army given that he has committed treason and unwarranted aggression. He's also a threat now as he controls the northern border and therefore most of Ferelden's trade. With his forces stretched between the arling and teyrnir, it shouldn't be hard to take him, especially if Highever's banns are resisting Howe. When the Orlesians arrive here, you could send a portion of your own force to take him. Once disposed, his army can fight the darkspawn here then to Arl Eamon's in the spring if he needs soldiers. You wouldn't have to return the soldiers until new rulers are settled in Amaranthine and Highever. Then you'll have Arl Eamon's gratitude without having to sacrifice your own men. If Fergus is alive, a powerful teyrn's gratitude as well for restoring his lands."

The king watched him for a moment with his mouth parted in surprise. Raviathan kept his gaze focused on the strange demonic face in the king's golden armor wondering just how dumb he had sounded. Stupid, little elf around all these shems. What had he been thinking?

The king threw back his head and laughed. Raviathan looked down, mortified that he had spoken up to this man. Maker he was a stupid, little elf. He had a sudden desire to hide his ears and slink away. Why didn't he just hold his tongue?

He was surprised when the king clapped him on the back with enough force to sting him through his armor. Raviathan's rough armor didn't do much against plate gauntlets, but he stood his ground. Cailan's heavy hand remained on his shoulder, its weight adding to his shame. "Duncan, I should steal this one from you and make him my advisor." Thrown off by the response, Raviathan wasn't sure if he was being ridiculed or not. He kept his head down and decided his mouth should be kept firmly shut for a good year as penance. "You can spare him, can't you?"

"My apologies, Your Majesty," Duncan said with a respectful bow of his neck, "but I hold the Right of Conscription on this one."

"Tell me," Cailan said, returning his attention to the elf, "where did you study?"

Raviathan couldn't stop the impulse to cross his arms over his stomach though he had tried hard not to. So he was being ridiculed. The human's hand was still on his shoulder, and he wondered if this were to be the first time he'd have one of his ears pulled. The anticipation of such a sharp and intimate pain made him tight. This is why elves didn't fight back or even pull away in self defense. Humiliation held them still, and knowing he was too frozen to act made the humiliation that much worse. "I have not studied, Your Majesty."

"Ah-," Cailan started but cut off, watching the elf in keen interest. He smiled then. "Of course. You just said you were from an alienage. How did you learn of politics and tactics then?"

Raviathan bent his head down a little more wishing he could crawl away. Kings weren't suppose to be cruel, he thought. Why couldn't this one let the lesson go. Doesn't he have better things to do than draw out this punishment? "Duncan has been teaching me history on the way here, Your Majesty."

"The way here? Surely the journey has been less than a fortnight."

Raviathan was going to apologize hoping that would end this when Duncan spoke up. "Your Majesty, I'm afraid he must prepare for the ceremony to join our Order."

"Just as well," Cailan said with mirth still in his voice. "His pretty face would be far too much of a distraction for the court. Then you should make haste in making him an official member. Not only might I still try to steal him away, we have a battle to fight tonight."

"Tonight?" Duncan asked.

Cailan finally withdrew his hand. Raviathan felt the phantom weight of the golden gauntlet remain as if his own burning face weren't reminder enough of his stupid tongue. "Your second and a few of the scouts confirmed it this morning. You'll reconvene with them first, I'm sure, but then Loghain will want to discuss strategy. Considering what the Wardens have said, it's sure to be a glorious battle."

"You seem very confident of victory," Duncan said coolly.

Raviathan thought winning four battles sounded impressive, but Cailan's disregard for strategy made Raviathan nervous. The darkspawn were terrifying and not to be left to chance. That was the second time the man had spoken of glory. In Raviathan's brief experience, glory seekers got themselves in trouble. He hoped the king was an excellent fighter to make up for being foolhardy and incautious. But then perhaps this king was a good enough fighter that he didn't find the darkspawn as deeply unsettling as Raviathan did.

"Overconfident some would say," Cailan said blowing off any concerns with a smirk. "I'm not even sure if this is a true blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas. We see no sign of an archdemon."

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Raviathan knew he hadn't imagined Duncan's disapproval. The relationship between the king and Warden-Commander was a complex one. Joining or not, Raviathan wondered just how much Duncan would be willing to tell him.

"Blights are the makers of legends!" Cailan's blue eyes lit up, either not noticing Duncan's tone or ignoring it. "What would you not give to be the real life heroes of fables, your name forever spoken with reverence? The Grey Wardens fighting with a king against a tainted god. This is what people dream of their entire lives, and we may have that chance!"

Raviathan wanted nothing more than to get away from this man. Cailan was scaring him, and Raviathan had to fight the urge to slink behind Duncan. This was the leader of his nation? As if the ground had suddenly shifted under him, Raviathan realized how tenuous his place in the world was, how fragile his nation to the whims of men. Laws and nobility had always seemed like bars of iron, immutable and enduring. He and his mother slipped between the bars of law on occasion, but their solidity gave form and structure to his life. Had the establishments of his society truly been an illusion all these years? Like the violation of the alienage, the stone walls that made up Raviathan's world cracked.

The heat left Cailan's face when he turned back to his horse. "Ah well. If there is not blight, this will have to do. Now I must go before Loghain grinds his teeth away. Farewell, Grey Wardens."

Following Duncan's lead, Raviathan crossed his arms over his chest and gave a small bow in salute. Cailan remounted with no assistance even though he was in heavy plate armor. He expertly twisted the large beast around and raced away at a full gallop followed by his guards. Heavy muscle and armor added to the horse's mass, the movement making Raviathan's stomach clench in sudden panic. Again he was reminded how small and frail he was.

Glad to be alone again, Raviathan said quietly, "He said this wasn't a true blight. If an archdemon hasn't appeared, how do you know?"

Now that they were here and Raviathan was still firmly set on becoming a Grey Warden, Duncan let him know more than he had ever told a recruit. "Part of being a Grey Warden means that we receive portents of such things."

Duncan indicated with a gentlemanly wave of his hand for Raviathan to continue down the path. They walked together into the first courtyard of the fortress. It was outdoors with trees about. Platforms to the left overlooked the mountains and hazy Korcari Wilds far below. A great tower with flying buttresses stood high and lonely to the right. Raviathan wondered about the purpose of such a tower. It was less stable than ground buildings. The Tevinters had built this place a thousand years ago, and if it was still standing, it only served to remind Raviathan his own ignorance.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn hoard grows larger with each passing day. We are quickly becoming outnumbered. I know there is an archdemon behind this, as do all the Grey. But I can only warn the king. It is up to him to act with wisdom."

Raviathan shook his head. "I will not say this to another," he said quietly, "but the king seems a fool."

"Beware that you do not speak ill of the king," Duncan whispered back. "We were only just allowed back into Ferelden after a two century exile. Fool or not, we need his support, and you can never be completely certain whose ears are around."

"Of course, Duncan. What about the other Wardens though? Shouldn't they be sending in reinforcements?"

"The Wardens of Orlais promised the wolf's share of their numbers, but they have long to travel to reach us. They should be at the boarder soon. Until then, and we must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain's army to make up the rest."

There was that name again. Loghain. Raviathan's father would probably know who this man was while he had a few day of history lessons to catch up. Raviathan wanted to get the measure this general to see if there was at least some intelligent influence to make up for the king's foolishness. Maker please don't let him be another glory hound.

"What about the Wardens of other nations?"

Duncan murmured deep in his throat. "They know of the danger but have shown little willingness to help us thus far. As I have told you of the previous four blights, they take decades to defeat and have decimated nations. Our other closest allies, Nevarra and the Free Marches, are both strengthening their numbers for what they think will be the inevitable invasion north."

"Why wouldn't they help us? If the blight is stopped here, then their lands might go completely unharmed."

"The movements of an archdemon lead horde are difficult to predict. As the darkspawn move underground, they can strike anywhere. Unlike a regular army, their movements are next to impossible to track. The Warden-Commanders of Nevarra and the Free Marches fear for their nation's safety if they are left without their Wardens' protection."

"Sounds like they're abandoning us," Raviathan said sourly. "I thought Wardens believed themselves separate from the nations in which they're stationed."

"They do and they don't. Unfortunately, these decisions are almost never black and white. Though we are supposed to remain neutral, we are not immune from the influence of politics. In truth, they may think this nation is already doomed due to our low number of Wardens. I am not entirely certain of their motives, but I believe they think it a waste of resources to travel here when they can fortify their positions with more ease."

"So they leave us to die in what maybe a hopeless battle." That might be good strategy, but Raviathan thought those Wardens were showing unconscionable cowardliness.

"Well, I'm not giving up so easily." Raviathan smiled, resisting the urge to take Duncan's hand. Human lands, human rules. "We have the king's support along with the remaining teyrn and many arls. Do not be so quick to judge the other Wardens. Long range views, Rav."

Raviathan was tired from the long journey. Though he was more than half Duncan's age, the human seemed to be so much stronger than he. The journey hadn't fazed him at all. Raviathan knew his own tiredness was part of the reason for his bad judgment. He had been brash with the king and without cause. The king, for all his glory mongering, had shown at least a passing interest in his people. Perhaps his judgments had been a little too harsh, and Duncan had told him to be patient. Raviathan nodded in understanding.

Duncan continued distractedly, "I need to meet with the other Wardens first. Get a meal and explore the camp as you will. Jory and Daveth should be around somewhere. I'll send someone for you when it's time."

It was odd seeing Duncan like this. After so many days traveling together, this was another side of the man, the Warden-Commander and leader of men. Raviathan supposed it was inevitable, and the last thing he wanted to do was add to his mentor's burdens when he was clearly pressed. "Alright, Duncan," Raviathan said injecting more spirit into his voice than he felt.

Perhaps the tone sounded too false, but for whatever reason it caught Duncan's attention. Duncan paused before the wide bridge that linked the east wing to the west to clap a hand on Raviathan's shoulder. "It'll be alright, Rav."

Struck anew with the knowledge that he no longer had to hide from Duncan, Raviathan grabbed the old warrior's hand and pulled him into a sheltered alcove. Raviathan reached up to his puzzled mentor, focused the light of magic inside him, and let that heat penetrate deep into Duncan's neck. Duncan's eyes became heavy lidded—his lips parted slightly—as heat and healing loosened the strained muscles of his neck.

Next, Raviathan took one of Duncan's hands in both of his, setting energy to snap through them. Duncan winced. "What is this?"

"I know it feels strange. Just another moment."

When finished, Raviathan began on Duncan's other hand. The old warrior gazed at his electrified hand, flexing it in wonder. His knuckles no longer bulged with arthritis.

Even when Raviathan had made a fool of himself in front of the king, Duncan had rescued him. You're a good man, Duncan. Whatever you need, I'll do for you. "I'll be ready when you need me." Duncan gave his shoulder a final squeeze, the strength of the old warrior a comfort, then left across the bridge. Raviathan watched his mentor's broad back for a moment before turning his attention to the fortress.

Alone for the first time in over a week, Raviathan looked over the fortress trying to take it all in. Even the bridge was massive. It spanned the deep gorge with only a few marks of age. One large hunk had been taken out of a section, but the rest seemed solid. Though he knew the bridge had been there for ages, the idea of crossing it made him dizzy. He had no great fear of heights, but the sheer plunge to the rocks far below added to the queasy tightness of his stomach. The highest he had been was the alienage wall at night with tall buildings on either side. Most buildings in Denerim were no more than three stories. This was a vast plunge of over a hundred feet.

Deciding to tackle that obstacle later, Raviathan walked about the overgrown courtyard. He gathered a few bunches of wild elfroot on reflex then preceded to a platform. Taking a long, steadying breath, he looked over the side. He wrapped his arms over his stomach as he gazed over the valley below.

What a change his life had taken. He had rarely left Denerim and then only a few miles out, and now all this. Aside from the Highway, the fortress was his first taste of Tevinter craftsmanship. On impulse, his hand traced over the stone of the low wall separating him from the steep cliff and valley below. It was rough and weathered, its texture grainy as the softer particles of stone wore away. This stone had been here for a millennium, from before Andraste was born. The weight of all those years, the numerous winters and summers, the harsh wind constantly beating at it, the freezes constricting the stone, the endless years of rain, and yet here it stood. The glacial southern wind gushed up, blowing his hair back. He squinted, unmoved by the force of it and thought of his mother and aunt. They had been slaves in Tevinter and had escaped. The nation capable of building this eternal construct could not hold them. He smiled at that. Like the elfroot, they found a way to thrive in the harshest of environments. They had been tough women, made of iron.

The moment's reprieve had calmed him, and he moved back to the interior. Spying a half buried chest abandoned behind a low wall, he picked the lock. He hadn't worked at locks in years and found the practice useful. Nothing much inside though. A few coins he pocketed. The guards took no notice of him as he explored. He chatted up one guarding the tower and learned a bit about the history of the fortress. There was nothing special going on. Some clearing out of the basement levels. Probably rats and the like.

Feeling a little more normal after the conversation, Raviathan made his way to the bridge and slowly walked across it, staying in the very middle. He kept his eyes focused on the stone. The bridge vibrated slightly in the strong southern wind. Solid ground it was not, and his stomach fluttered with each gust of wind. He was feeling very small around all these humans and the large fortress that seemed to block out the sky. He eyed the large chunk of stone taken out as he passed. The missing chunk was the size of the king's horse. If fortresses could talk.

A guard with a kind voice greeted him when he reached the other side. Raviathan felt awkward when the guard recognized him as Duncan's recruit, making him wonder what Duncan had written about him. The guard didn't give a fig that Raviathan was an elf, and, despite his dislike of humans, Raviathan found the man easy to talk to. The discussion of Ostagar's history was a relief after the bridge and isolation he felt. He hadn't realized how attached he had become to the weathered human until that moment. Aside from a few trips around the city, Raviathan had rarely been on his own before.

Bidding goodbye to the guard, Raviathan continued into the much busier courtyards of the fortress. On a high platform to his right was a priestess giving the Chant of Light to a group of gathered soldiers below.

"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, From the lowest slaves, To the highest kings. Those who bring harm, Without provocation to the least of His children, Are hated and accursed by the Maker."

Feeling instant revulsion for words, Raviathan turned left past large tent pavilions. What did that woman know of harm or pain? She sat in a Chantry and studied, or at the most tended to another, but that wasn't her pain. She could go on all day with theories and pretty words, but she knew nothing, so her words were hollow. And the Maker. For all his 'accusing', for all his power, great harm was done to the lowest, the weakest and most powerless. When his people suffered for centuries, what good was the Maker's hatred? For all the Chantry's talk, they were also responsible for keeping his people down. He knew verses of Shartan and why they had been stricken. Hypocritical bitches.

He stopped to watch a lecture a haggard captain was giving to a round of soldiers. To his surprise, they were gathered around the corpse of a genlock. At least it looked like a genlock according to the description Duncan gave him. The creature wasn't rotting. There were no flies or insects, no smell of decay except for the sickly bile stench that had also accompanied the darkspawn from the other night. Raviathan edged in closer, getting a warning look from the captain.

Raviathan had time to study the face of a darkspawn as he hadn't before during the attack. The genlock was short, had pointed ears, and greenish brown skin like the sewage water left to sit for months in the alienage. Two rows of corrupt, pointed teeth jutted out from its death grimace. Maybe they looked that way alive too. There wasn't really a nose, just two slits. The rubbery looking skin hadn't rotted though. All the lines and creases, the bulbous jutting of its maw, aside from the cuts of a blade, was how it had looked in life. Were its eyes the milky white of cataracts from life or deterioration from death? Nothing else had decayed so it was more likely what they looked like alive.

Taint roiled off the corpse like a miasma. The monstrous appearance of the corpse counted for only part of Raviathan's nausea. Though not exactly painful, Raviathan felt like he was being twisted by the profound unnaturalness the darkspawn radiated. His blood stung as though mixed with acid. How could the other soldiers remain so impassive? Maybe they were used to the taint by now, or maybe they were more disciplined than he was. How had they fared in their first encounter?

The shriek had been much more terrifying in the darkness. It had been tall, gangly, moved like nightmares made real. It screamed like rusted hinges, high and piercing through his nerves. Last night, the darkness that lay at the core of all that was evil in this world had grown claws that reached for him, slashed at him, sought his heart. He had killed them.

This thing, as ugly as it was, was killable. Some of the fear that had been crawling inside Raviathan drained away. The more he looked at the creature, the calmer he became. Foulness radiated off it even in death. Raviathan felt disgusted by the black blood that had caked underneath the body. It was repellent, and he would remain cautious, but his fear was leaving.

The captain finished his lectures, and the guards started to break up into small groups to talk or go on to other business. A young, blonde woman stayed to stare at the corpse. Trying to be unobtrusive on the woman's meditation, Raviathan said, "Disgusting, isn't it."

She answered without turning. "Yeah. I've never seen one up close."

"I did last night. It was taller than this one. Had black skin." Her gaze was fixed on the monster. Raviathan took a moment to study her. She had a square face and thin lips but was not unattractive. If her straight hair were a little longer than the page boy style, it would soften her features. She was okay now, but hers was the kind of face that would grow more striking as she aged, when maturity would make her handsome. "Are you afraid?"

She didn't answer at first. "I… it is terrible. Isn't it?"

He tried to soothe her, talking to her in a voice he would use to lure out frightened kittens. "It's normal to be afraid. There's no shame in that."

"But we have to fight these things." She shifted her weight. "I can't be afraid."

His voice became lower, a bit more dark. "Feel your fear. Understand what it is. This thing is terrifying. You want to live, and that is not shameful." He let the words sink in. She stared at the corpse with more intensity, but she was listening. "Now look closer at it. It can die. You can stand up to something like this. Every time you cut one of these monsters down, you clean the world of that bit of evil. Bit by bit, we will rid Ferelden of these monsters. Feel your fear, and let it go. You are stronger."

He could see her gaze become more resolute as she let his words take hold. Finally she squared her shoulders and turn to look at him with a confident smile. The smile vanished in an 'oh' of surprise. He raised his eyebrows in question. She said, "I… I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were an elf."

He gave her a half grin. "I'm still the same person you were talking to a minute ago."

To his surprise, her smile returned. "Yes, of course."

Giving her a courteous nod, Raviathan left to explore the roofless hall that ran behind the various platforms and broken arbors facing the wilds. Had the dwarves worked for the Tevinter to create such a place? It was gradually becoming a ruin and would become so in next few centuries if there was no intervention. He didn't know much of fortresses or structures or the tactics employed to either defend or attack one. He was sure Ferelden didn't keep a regular contingent here. Why had the Chasind not taken it? He was again surprised when the blonde jogged to catch up to him.

"I didn't mean to be rude. I've just not seen many elves. You look like a fighter."

"I know a bit of swordplay."

One of the tall columns had fallen and was leaning against its fellow from the other side. Raviathan looked about. For all the dirt and vegetation, the ruins were holding up spectacularly well. Roots were able to break apart stone given enough years. It was amazing that these ruins had stood so long. They passed one large, rounded alcove where a woman in priest robes was bent on her knees, praying fervently to the hazy sun in the eastern sky. Other than that, they were completely alone in this secluded area. She said, "You really helped me out there."

"It was nothing." Raviathan watched her, saw the tight glances as her eyes constantly roamed over the fort. Despite her new found confidence she was trying to project, she was still terrified. "Have you seen much battle?"

"I have. A bit." She was young, but she did not look inexperienced. "I'm from Gwaren. One of Loghain's army."

The pathway curved around a low wall but broke off shortly after. Raviathan was saved from looking at the long drop by a rocky outcropping. "Really? What can you tell me about Loghain?"

Her eyes lit up. "The Teyrn? You know of course he's the Hero of River Dane." Raviathan didn't but let her go on anyway. It would be a simple enough thing to piece together Loghain's past from other sources not so enamored with the man. That he commanded such loyalty alone was a mark of his character. They sat on the low wall as she recounted the battles she had participated in against the Chasind to the south. Much to Raviathan's relief, the teyrn sounded like he was a brilliant tactician.

As she continued on recounting some of his more historical battles and the tactical plays behind them, Raviathan gave a mental prayer to keep Nesiara safe. He had so far abstained, in part due to the pace Duncan set as they traveled, but mostly in remembrance of his marriage. He wanted to stay chaste for a time to honor her, but as he watched the woman before him, he let that plan go. His wife was gone, and there was no getting her back. He could not make her a whore by trying to keep her but without the respectability of marriage. Ness had been wiser about that.

Battle was coming. Life was too short. He stood to get the woman's attention. For this woman it all started with the eyes. Let his intention show, the desire, and she would be his. She stopped, watching him with wide eyes. His fingertips caressed her jaw. When she didn't stop him, he leaned in to kiss the corner behind her jaw and let his lips brush down her neck.

"What…?"

"Say no if you will," Raviathan breathed the words against her neck. "We can part now, if you like." He kissed her neck, trailed his lips to the skin behind her ear. "Seems to me that you're interested. Let's let our fear go together."

The blonde warrior stuttered, "I… but someone might s-see us."

Calm emerald and azure eyes met her hazel ones. They were fine by human standards, and he was getting use to not seeing the flash or more brilliant coloration typical of elven eyes. He smiled, letting his voice turn intimate. "No one will see us. Just you and me."

"I…"

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "We are to battle soon. Let's take our pleasures. Let's have this moment. When you want to stop, we'll stop." He nuzzled her ear, so strange in its small roundness, and ran his fingers through her hair. He would go only this far. She had to be the one to make the next move. It had to be her choice.

She asked nervously, "Are…are you sure?"

"Yes," he said low into her ear. She slid down behind the wall to the stone below. Fear was driving her to seek release. It was easy to make her give in. Raviathan knelt in front of her and took off his poncho and leather skirting. It was too cold to bother with the rest of his leather armor. Apparently she could stand it better and had unfastened her scale armor plating, letting it fall with a clank on the stone. Raviathan helped her remove the padding and shirt underneath. Her breasts fell loose once freed from the constraints. There were pink impressions along her torso from the armor.

Not pausing to take in the differences, he took a large pale areola in his mouth. Her breasts were huge and weighty. Her whole body was. He had never been with a human before, and her thick body surprised him. She trailed her fingers through his hair as he teased and sucked her nipple. The nub had gone high in his mouth, like candy for his tongue. Her hands worked clumsily at the catches for the rest of her armor.

She was a warrior and in good shape, but he was use to the willowy bodies of elven women. She was proportional for a human, but her hips and breasts were larger than he expected. Would human bodies be similar enough to elves? Would he measure up? He released her breast to look down now that she was exposed to her knees. The armor shin guards were still in place, her pants pushed to her knees, but the rest of her was open. He stared at the patch of light brown hair over her sex. He didn't know what to make of it. "Is this normal?" He touched the thick, crinkly hair. "For humans?"

The woman was no whore despite how quickly she had taken to him. Abashed by the question, some of her desire left, and she started covering herself with her hands. "Yes. We all have that."

No strumpet either. Though obviously not a virgin, this sort of quick sex was not her regular behavior. She was afraid of the coming battle he reminded himself. Be gentle. She was actually quite sweet. He took the hand she used to cover her sex and lifted it to his lips. "Don't hide," he said low and soothing. "You're beautiful." He caressed the secretive hair then kissed her cheek. "Don't be ashamed," he whispered in her ear. He let her read his eyes as he said, "You are beautiful." He caressed her cheek. "Never doubt it." She was relaxing again, and he kissed her on the neck.

As unexpected as it was, the hair was interesting. He removed the arm covering her breasts and took the other nipple between his lips. Releasing her hand, he slid his fingers up and down her spine and continued to work the nipple. Soft skin puckered under his lips. She was heating up again. He placed his palm along her lower hair and slipped two fingers inside her flesh. She was hot and getting moist. He hoped humans and elves weren't that different, that she still had that nub would make her body peak. The hand caressing her spine lowered to cup a rounded buttock. He squeezed to pull the flesh of her legs apart, and… there it was. His fingers glided over the little nub causing her flesh to wetten, her body to sink and fully open for him.

Satisfied that she would find release with him, he shuffled behind her and unhitched his leggings. If he were very different, he didn't want to know. Not now at least. He pushed on her back, and she leaned against the low wall with her hands gripping the top. Her breasts hung as she was spread before him. He took his erection in hand and guided himself along the slightly pebbly texture of her sex. He kissed her back, thankful to have found such a willing woman, to feel again that heat between a woman's legs.

Using his hand to guide, he pushed until he found her entrance. He paused at the resistance of her flesh to savor the moment. She was hot and wet, murmuring low in her throat. He leaned his head back to concentrate on that glorious feeling before sliding in with a low groan. She constricted against him, wonderfully tight. He held her wide hips to brace as he started pumping. Maker, she felt good. Her larger body and curves were so different than anything he had known.

She was panting, breathy grunts greeting him, pushing against him eagerly. His hands explored the curves of her body. One hand cupped a quivering breast. He squeezed the hard nub of a nipple between two fingers as his other hand moved down so he could touch her hair again. Even in the cold morning she was warm to the touch. His fingers spread her open and she whimpered as the cool air caressed her sensitive skin. He loved the growing ache that kept building as he pushed into her again and again. He thrust harder, working her faster as he started to rub around that little nub of nerves teasing her. He pressed his fingers deeper, and her round ass pushed back, welcoming him. Her cries took on more urgency, and she bent down low, spreading herself wide so he could move faster. She moaned, "Oh please. Oh Maker please!"

At her cry he sped up. Let it last a little longer. Her voice was good. Her flesh was hot. He needed this release. All the fear and pain of the past weeks needed an exit. He looked down to see his cock, slick with her fluid, disappear inside her flesh. Shame tightened him, turning his desire into a burning ache. _I'm sorry, Ness. You always deserved better._ He groaned deep as he took the woman before him with a feral need. His mind wailed, _you always deserved better_.

The blonde warrior's body quivered and squirmed against him. He held on as she gasped and pushed back compulsively to take him. He thrust fast as his fingers worked that little knot of nerves pushing her orgasm hard. She writhed with harsh panting groans. Her hands were white knuckled as she clasped the wall as if she were going to fall off. Once she stilled with a last rough groan, he gripped her shoulders, in that moment not caring if he hurt her. Ness, I'm sorry. The woman whimpered and shivered again, her heat feeding his own burning ache. Ness. Raviathan closed his eyes at the tightening of his balls, his whole body feeling constricted before release. He pushed in hard a final time. _Ness, I'm sorry. _

For now he could let his pain go and was washed in relief. Too much travel, too many changes—it had all been wearing on him. He stayed in her, let the moment of release stay him. I'm sorry, Ness. You deserved better. He exited and stroked her back. Breathlessly he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Mmm," she mumbled as she slumped bonelessly on the stone floor.

He chuckled, kissing her broad back. "I hope that means good." He stroked her back again before lifting up and relacing his leggings. "Come on. You'll get cold." He gathered her armor and helped her back into it then rebelted his armor and weapons.

She sat back on the wall, watching him with languorous eyes. "I think I need a nap after that."

He smiled at her. She really was sweet. Thankful though he was, in his experience women didn't take gratitude well after sex. He kissed her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "Do you feel alright?"

"Yes," she smiled dreamily.

He squeezed her hand then left to pick up the rest of his equipment. "Good luck in the coming battle."

"Maker watch over you," she replied.

"Maker watch over us all."


	27. Plans and Tactics – Chants and Stories

Trigger Warning: mild NSFW

* * *

Though relaxed after his time with the soldier, depression pressed against Raviathan. His muscles were loose, he was calm, but the familiar shame that had haunted him through childhood was compounded with thoughts of Nesiara. The sound of her crying on the other side of the door when he left the alienage echoed in his memories. His throat tightened as the path before him wavered through unshed tears. Gone were the fears of being thrown out of the alienage, but the disappointment his elders remained in the back of his mind, weighing on him. Worse were the thoughts of what Nesiara would think of him. Would she feel betrayed? How could she not? Raviathan blinked his eyes to clear them then shoved the thoughts away. That life didn't belong to him anymore.

Needing another distraction, Raviathan walked back down the deserted pathway in search of a meal. Around the main tent site he washed his hands and was able to get some bread and a bowl of porridge from the army cook. The burly man eyed at him dubiously at first, but Raviathan was armored and armed as no other elf in the camp. In the end the cook shrugged and left Raviathan alone. He found a quiet place to sit and watch the camp while he ate.

A few other elves ran about delivering messages or items but no one he recognized. A group of warriors were going through a series of exercises with painted mabari. He watched the dogs race and take down standing dummies on command, reminding him of just how powerful the dogs were. Just beyond the platform where the Chantry priestess was still giving her sermon to the group of soldiers, a flash of light from a broken tower base caught his eye. As he looked more carefully, he realized they were mages.

Raviathan finished his meal quickly and dumped the bowl by the washing area. These would be the first mages he met other than his aunt. He hadn't expected there to be any here. Fear tingled through him at the thought of the Circle, instinct making him want to run. He tried to ignore the feeling. After all, what was the likelihood he would get another chance to talk to a Circle mage? Raviathan edged toward the mage encampment.

Templars. Fires take him, they were crawling around the encampment like the prison guards they were. Raviathan's heart thudded so hard he thought he could hear it.

"May I help you, young man?" Standing nonchalantly by the tower base was an older woman in beige and brown robes with a staff. She had to be a mage. Her white hair would have been shoulder length but was tied back in a severe, short ponytail. She had widely spaced blue eyes in an apple shaped face marked with character. Her well defined if thin mouth carried the lines of age.

"I was curious is all."

"No need to be so afraid," she said. "I am Wynne."

"Rav. Raviathan, but everyone calls me Rav." Raviathan crossed his arms to cover the trembling of his hands. He wondered if she could detect the shaking he heard in his own voice. "I suppose magic makes most people nervous."

"Indeed," she said, the lines around her eyes crinkling in what Raviathan took to be regret. "Tales of demons and abominations abound, so I cannot say your fear is unfounded, but mages spend their entire life learning control. Though your fear of us is clear, you came here out of curiosity. If you have questions, I will answer them if I can."

"Ah, okay." Raviathan hadn't thought much about what Circle mages must be like. For all his magic wielding years, his only concern was the templars. This Wynne seemed so normal. His own shadowed thoughts of Circle mages were of chains and figures hunched from beatings. "What's the Circle like?"

"It is a place of contemplation and learning. We are free to practice our gifts and learn to control them."

Free? The woman made it sound like some academy instead of the prison it was. Free to practice their gifts. There was no freedom when children were stolen from their parents' arms. "And the templars?"

"They serve their purpose."

A diplomatic answer, to be sure, but there was no rancor Raviathan could detect. Humans confused him more often than not, so he might just not be reading her correctly.

"Interesting," she said, her gaze steady with more interest than made him comfortable. "When an outsider approaches me, I'm usually asked about demons or what it's like to cast magic."

"Oh. Yes. I suppose. My kin and friends have been taken, so I wondered about their treatment."

"Ah, yes. Now I understand. You are from an alienage then?"

"How did you know?"

"The Dalish are the only other elves who live in numbers large enough to produce several mages, but the Dalish are able to stay hidden from the templars. Newly brought elves are suspicious at first, but in the Circle humans and elves are equals, which they come to understand in time." She waved a hand at the camp. Humans talked at leisure, gambled at small games of dice, or practiced with their chosen weapons. The few elves scurried about, the main movement in the camp, heads low as if in perpetual fear of a beating. "The few times I've been able to leave the Circle, I'm surprised anew at how differently elves are treated by the world at large."

"You've been able to leave the Circle?" That bit of news struck him like a slap. Mages allowed out of the prison? Then why haven't any of his friends or kin returned for a visit?

"Not often, but there are times mages are needed, as they are now. During times of battle, to advise the king, or confirm a noble child's ancestry. Occasionally we are allowed to travel for study at other Circles."

"They must trust you quite a bit then."

Her smile gentled her face. "I suppose they do."

"You've never wanted to leave permanently?"

"Of course. Every mage has at some time or another. It is a grand thing to see the world, but I know well my responsibilities." Raviathan shifted, perplexed by this woman. A mischievous gleam entered her eyes. "That and I would be hunted down."

Raviathan couldn't help a grin in return. "Do you know how templars do that? Hunt mages?"

"I'm not sure about apostates or malificarum, but each Circle mage has a vial of blood taken when they first come to the Circle, a phylactery. The templars can track missing mages with that."

As Solyn had warned, templars had power over mages, although the extent of that power was a mystery to them both. Templars were supposedly immune to magic and could disrupt a mage's casting, and while there were rumors of more, neither was sure what was fact from fiction. That Solyn hadn't been able to defend herself, had been beaten and brutalized while alive, spoke of stronger, darker abilities.

All living creatures were connected to the Fade, so, given time and discipline, non mages could learn some limited but powerful abilities. Raviathan hypothesized that a templar learned to manipulate their limited connection to the Fade energy just as some rogues did to hide in shadows, as his mother could. What Wynne said confirmed that templars did have some developed skill with magic if they were able to use a mage's blood to track them.

A mage's power came from their own life energy, each casting of magic diminishing that energy until a mage could recoup. Mages could kill themselves if they tried to cast beyond their limits, just as a warrior could if he lost too much blood from wounds. Just as lost blood could be regenerated by the body, so a mage's mana would be fueled by Fade energy through the soul by the mage's unique connection to the Fade. Blood carried power as strong as mana, but unlike a mage's mana, a person's blood could be preserved, which created a link to the life from which the blood was taken. Blood was power, in some ways more versatile than mana, but magic worked through blood tarnished a mage's soul like wine poured on a white dress.

Was working with blood what tarnished a templar? If blood magic corrupted a mage's soul, surely working with blood did the same to templars. Did they use blood magic to gain their abilities? If so, no wonder they were capable of such monstrosity.

The impetus for Raviathan's family's escape from slavery had been because of Solyn. The family who owned them had decided Solyn would learn blood magic. Adaia, seeing her sister's blind panic, had formulated the escape that killed off Raviathan's grandparents, uncle, and two cousins. Raviathan was named for the uncle who had sacrificed his life to kill the blood mage that had stalked their family from the Tevinter Imperium, through Navarra and finally the Free Marches.

"If I may," she said, bringing him out of his thoughts, "you don't strike me as a simple messenger, but there are no elven soldiers, and I haven't seen you before."

"No," he replied hesitantly. "I came with Commander Duncan this morning."

"Ah," she said her face clearing. "Then you are his newest recruit are you not?" He nodded, and she renewed her measure of him. Humans had been staring at him since he had left the alienage, and he was getting rather sick of all the scrutiny. Even as a dock worker he had the respite of home afterwards. She should be use to elves considering how many of his kin had been taken to the Circle. "He's not a man easily impressed. You should be proud."

"Um, thank you." How many people knew about him? The Grey Wardens he expected, maybe a few guards. Why would this mage know? Followed by that was what did they know? Killing a lord wasn't easily forgiven. Though Duncan had reassured him, Raviathan would take no chances until this ritual was done. Even then, accidents could happen around vengeful nobles, particularly in the chaos of battle. "Do you know Duncan well then?" That seemed a neutral enough question.

"Not especially, but we have had a few discussions when he had been by the Circle. He has some… rather open ideas about magic and the Grey Wardens."

"You don't agree with him?" The conformation on Duncan's attitude towards magic cleared away the last niggling shadow of doubt that Raviathan had. Duncan wouldn't fear him, would value his abilities. As much as Raviathan's father loved him, and Raviathan had no doubt that his father loved him, his magic had created a wall between them. A shadow of fear, tiny but ever present, lay behind Cyrion's eyes when he looked at his son. A wave of protective responsibility for Duncan washed into Raviathan much as it had with Nesiara or his cousins when he had delivered them. Duncan respected him as an elf and as a mage. The feeling was warm and good, giving him purpose and confidence.

"I think he is very devoted to the Wardens' mission," she said, watching him with intelligent, pale blue eyes. Though he had never had a teacher before, and no formal education, she struck him as an experienced teacher. She reminded him of Solyn in that there was a certain sternness, a woman who would not hide uncomfortable truths, but was not unkind either. He wondered what her perspective would be on a number of issues: the king, the coming battle, the darkspawn, and most of all magic. But that last would have to wait until he was an official Grey Warden. "I know he was looking for a recruit at the Circle. Neria had the most potential of any apprentice in at least a decade, and I believe she was ready to graduate soon. Do you know where she is? I'd like to speak with her."

Neria? No, that had to be a coincidence. Though his childhood memories had faded at the edges, he remembered orange red hair barely tamed by braids, a quick smile, and a girl overflowing with want for adventure. Surely the world could not be so cruel to take that brilliance away. Not Eolas' only daughter. If it was her, Raviathan didn't want to know. Only pain lay down that road. Raviathan bit his lips, wondering how well this human knew of the apprentice. She seemed fond of her. "I don't know the details or her name even. Duncan said there was a recruit he was interested in, but she was made tranquil."

"Tranquil!" Wynne exclaimed. "What happened?"

He hated bringing bad news, and it seemed Wynne had known the recruit after all. "I'm not sure it is this Neria, but the mage he wanted to recruit was involved in some plot with a blood mage. They made her tranquil in response." Wynne slumped and looked away in grief. "I'm sorry," Raviathan said and meant it. "Did you know her well?" From Wynne's reaction, it sounded like someone had died, and from what he knew of the tranquil, that was true. The worst part about it was that the apprentice was still alive in a fashion.

Wynne shook her head as a comment to the senselessness of it. "Yes," she said in the distant voice of one lost in memory. "I was one of her early teachers. Even when Irving took over her lessons, she still came to me for mentoring. Such a loyal, talented girl." Wynne's focus sharpened on him, "Blood magic you said?"

"I don't know more than I have already said, and I would not like to be responsible for misinformation or rumors. Speak to Duncan."

With a sigh Wynne nodded reluctantly. "When he and I have a chance. What about you, young man? How did Duncan recruit you?"

"It's… a long story. Essentially he was a friend of my mother's and knew I had been trained."

"Hmm," she mused, watching him. "Do you know much about the darkspawn?"

Raviathan shrugged. "Duncan has been teaching me about the darkspawn on the journey here. "

"He would be the expert," she replied with a little more warmth. How well did the two know each other? "But let me ask you this. How much do you know about the connection between the darkspawn and the Fade?"

"Duncan and I have discussed the theories."

That earned another measuring look from the mage. Raviathan was reminded of Valendrian when the elder elf suspected Raviathan of mischief, a look he was very familiar with. "Such as?"

"Well, the Chantry's version, of course, as well as theories not related to the Maker."

"You are not fond of what the Chant says then."

"The Chant says many things," he scoffed. It's what they leave out that had him start to question the Chantry years ago. The Chantry hated mages. Why would any self respecting mage, and she looked like one, take the Chant seriously? In any case, he hadn't read that part of the Chant. He had heard enough of the priestesses' crowing ring out in the Market. Anything to make mages look like deviants and criminals was left in and sung loudly. Other than the dissonant verses, he hadn't read much finding the whole thing corrupted by politics.

"Your dismissal of the Chant's long history is premature. It may be allegory meant to teach us that our own evil is what causes human suffering. Or it may be true. There are some rather compelling arguments for it, such as the horde that amasses in the Wilds as we speak, and the Old God behind their new drive."

Nice idea, he thought, but the priestesses he had met and the followers all took it literally. As an allegory, it had potential, but it explained nothing, not the turning away of the Maker, the Black City, or the darkspawn. These were facts. The Maker did not watch over them. They had been abandoned. The Black City could be seen no matter where someone was in the Fade, and the Chant only pretended to know what happened during that ritual. There were no witnesses that day in the Fade other than the mages, and they left no record of what had happened. All that was witnessed was the darkening of the mages, their bodies twisting into the first darkspawn. The shriek that had bore down on him last night, the face of evil as he had never known could exist, that was not allegory.

How could one trust a spiritual truth that kept changing? He didn't mind additions as new truths were discovered or events happened, but to take out existing 'truth' for political convenience, such as the elves' right to a homeland, was just as twisted as they claimed the Tevinter magisters had been. He had no patience for accepting a lie because there was no better explanation. Truth was truth, and stories meant to entrench their own power didn't take the place of truth. She talked of suffering. This storytelling was causing suffering.

Tell men to act better, fine. It wouldn't work, but tell them anyway. Don't mix that by tying that to perpetuate fear of magic. Men who had power acted on their whims. That was true with Vaughan, and it was just as true with King Cailan. One sought his pleasure at the cost of others. Cailan sought glory though he had not the wisdom or temperance to lead men safely or effectively. Neither had magic, and they both put other people's lives in danger. They caused suffering. Allegory or not, the Chant ignored the evils of lords in favor of a scapegoat while the lords claimed power was only dangerous in the hands of mages.

What this 'allegory' taught was the reason he was in fear for his life every day since he was five. It was what had killed his aunt though she had eased others' suffering. It was the reason this mage standing in front of him had been put in a prison and told it was for her own and everyone else's good. And she believed it. That was the betrayal, to turn one against themselves. He had been good at hiding his whole life because it was necessary, but he couldn't entirely keep the contempt from his voice when he said, "I'll just kill every darkspawn I see."

Wynne's eyes narrowed, and Raviathan knew that she was much better at reading elves than he was at understanding humans. Her annoyance was clear though. She opened her mouth to speak when a templar strode over. "You there. Move along, and stop pestering the mages."

Fear clenched Raviathan's stomach like a stone dropped on his gut. He nodded and hurried away. As he left, he caught Wynne's voice. "Now that was unnecessary. He was curious was all."

"Enough rest, Wynne. You've got your duties."

Though Raviathan could make out her voice, the rest of her words were obscured by the noise of the camp. Just as well. That was the closest Raviathan had ever been to a templar. His breakfast gurgled uncomfortably in his stomach as he hurried up a ramp to put as much distance from himself and the templars as possible.

Most helmets showed something of a man's face, his eyes or mouth, a scrap of beard or scars, something that made them a person. Not templars. A thin slit shadowed their eyes, the rest obscured by metal. Even demons had faces. Only shades, the formless dead souls of the Fade that preyed upon weakened shattered souls, were as faceless.

As a child, Raviathan had nightmares of being chased by an army of faceless men. He would run through the streets, scampering down alleys, trying to hide in shadows or buildings, but there was nowhere to hide. They were so much faster than he. Faceless, cold, and hard, templars haunted him as no demon could.

Away from the Mages' encampment, Raviathan took a moment to collect himself . This past fortnight, he had been subject to a ridiculous amount of fear. Starting with his wedding, he'd had only a day or two at a time where he wasn't being preyed upon in one manner or another. While that soldier had given him relief, the stress of the journey had tired him out. Better to get his mind off the templars. Otherwise he'd dwell on them and only rile himself up.

The rest of the camp proved a pleasant enough diversion as he had hoped. Many chests provided ample exercise for his rusty lock picking skills. There were a few coins here, a dagger there. He found some rather wonderful arrows that held a small dose of freezing liquid in a vial that was designed to shatter on impact. Though he knew how to make that potion, it wasn't possible to find the ingredients in the alienage, and they were massively expensive compared to the meager pocket money he got from working in Alarith's shop.

Raviathan felt little guilt over taking the items within. They were small things to begin with, and besides, the soldiers were all well outfitted. If he was to be in the coming battle, he was woefully underequipped. He didn't even have a proper backpack, just the pillow sack. Compared to the soldiers, he looked ridiculous. If being an elf weren't enough of a obstacle here, his shabby appearance would earn him nothing but contempt.

While with Duncan, Raviathan had a buffer against the world of humans, but now that he was on his own, this world outside his alienage struck him anew with its strangeness. Human seemed to have no concept of their size. They were careless, as large and imprecise in their movements as young children. Not only were they physically imposing, they took up a great deal more space than they should. These humans stood far apart to have a simple conversation, their voices carrying far as if they were the only people around. While they would be a spy's delight, as it was, Raviathan thought they were rude beyond all reason, as if each and every one were the lord of this fortress.

Even humans who were by all measure friends kept distance. Raviathan knew well enough by now that humans didn't share the physical intimacy elves did, but the spaces they kept between each other were extreme. Were humans lonely? The question never occurred to him before, but as he watched, he wondered about them. Perhaps they didn't know how to connect as elves did. Perhaps they didn't have the same sense of empathy. That he had to barter with a guard to feed a starving prisoner spoke of the emotional walls they hid behind.

Perhaps he was over thinking things. Shianni would have teased him, reminded him that people like Elva had little connection to her community. That marked Elva though. She was strange in the alienage. Certainly many an elf had become bitter over the years, too much death, too much scraping and begging, but their ties to the community were deep as the roots of the vhenadahl. These humans were all like Elva. Elves were like the trees of a forest, their existence defined by their relationship to each other to form something greater than the individual trees. These humans didn't exist beyond their own skin. Everything they were was contained and untouchable.

Despite the assurances of the king, there was an air of panic in the camp. Not that he could read humans well, but he could see the tight, nervous glances of the soldiers at any movement. The Redcliffe soldiers hadn't had this undercurrent of panic. A fight broke out over a game of lost dice. Voices rose too quickly too fast, and it was only the swift intervention of a knight that stopped the fight from spreading to the rest. They were all looking for an excuse to get their minds off the battle. A wounded soldier, his eyes a fevered yellow and wide with panic, was screaming about darkspawn to everyone who passed. The nurse did her best to calm him, but there was no help for it. The soldier was spooked beyond reason.

Flipping the cleaned little brass key he got from the prisoner in the air and catching it, Raviathan wished he knew more about darkspawn. He hadn't thought to ask if they took prisoners, but he supposed they would. Humans did. But then what purpose did darkspawn have with prisoners? They didn't negotiate for hostages or press them into service. Food? But then they'd constantly be raiding the surface. Unless they kept humans and dwarves like cattle in some cave. Then what did the prisoners eat? Why hadn't he thought to ask?

"But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion should they set themselves against me." A Chantry priestess was spouting her lies to a small group of soldiers. Raviathan knew his contempt was showing when the priestess frowned at him though she did not break her sermon. He returned her frown with a scowl, but a niggling little thought poked at him. Had he not just been wondering at the rudeness of humans? Raviathan brushed away the concern. Rude he may be, but he was allowed his own thoughts, and this woman was part of the reason he had to hide since he was a child. The hate the Chantry preached had caused more pain than all the demons of the Fade.

With an imperious wave of her hand, the priestess finalized her prayer with a blessing to the knights around her. She raised her eyebrows at Raviathan, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "And would you receive the blessing of the Maker?"

Raviathan snorted. She already knew the answer. "The Maker will bless me or not. You flatter yourself to think you are part of his design."

A well fed knight turned on him then, scandalized on behalf of the priestess. The knight had the smallest head Raviathan had ever seen on such a large man. Not much room for a brain. He looked down his nose at Raviathan, his buggy little eyes showing the white at the top. "Now that was uncalled for."

"Spoken like someone who has never had their homeland stolen from them," Raviathan said, glaring at the knight.

The knight snorted, dismissing him as he turned back to the priestess. "Ignore him. You do the Maker's work, Sister."

"Your brain has been pinched too much by that skull of yours," Raviathan muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" The knight turned, a faint pink coloring his sallow cheeks. Raviathan was already walking away and didn't bother replying. The knight raised his voice to Raviathan's retreating back, "The King's mercy has allowed some to forget their place."

Idiot. And what did the king's mercy have to do with anything? That knight was a loon. Cailan had done nothing for elves during his time as king.

Had he really met a king? Talked with him? So much of his world had been flipped upside down, Raviathan wondered if he would ever feel normal again. Three months ago, high adventure consisted of venturing outside Denerim to talk with one of Alarith's suppliers. Raviathan's gaze roamed over the old fortress, along the broken walls and wilderness that was reclaiming lost ground, and he had another moment of feeling very small in a place he was never meant for. Raviathan ambled down a ramp to the lower section of the fortress wondering why Duncan had so much faith in him.

"That pretty head of yours could be decorating some darkspawn spear by tomorrow."

Raviathan's lips parted when he heard that. Andraste's flaming tits, what kind of idiot used a line like that to get into a woman's favor? She was an attractive woman, lightly tanned with dark chocolate hair and delicate features, and giving the dark man a look to freeze fire. Whoever the man was, he was blithely ignoring her glare as he fed her one line after another. Finally the woman had enough and left without a word.

"Smooth," Raviathan said.

The dark man turned then blinked in surprise, adjusting his gaze down to look Raviathan in the eye. Whoever the inept seducer was, he gave Raviathan a friendly grin. "I thought so myself. But I suppose you could do better, eh?"

"A lice covered sot could do better." At least this man wasn't put off by being addressed so by an elf. Raviathan's estimation of him rose. "Telling a woman that her corpse might be desecrated tomorrow probably isn't the best idea for a romantic encounter."

The man opened his mouth to retort then thought about it. "Huh. Well you got me there," he replied with a chagrined scratch of his head. "Ah well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"You there, elf," a balding giant of a man called. Even with his age and the belly that had formed, he was either a former soldier or blacksmith judging by the wide set of his shoulders and arms that bulged with muscle. He scowled at Raviathan, tapping his leg with a switch. "Where's my armor, and why are you dressed so preposterously?"

Raviathan backed away a step in surprise. "I'm no servant."

"Listen here, knife ears, I'll have none of your lies," the man said as he swatted the switch against his boot in warning.

"But…" Raviathan started. The large man raised the switch as he tried to grab Raviathan's arm. With a movement almost too quick to follow, the human found a dagger at his throat with the elf leaning in. "Put the switch down. Now."

Both humans stood still in shock. The large man slowly lowered the switch and leaned back. "Easy now. Doesn't need to come to that."

Raviathan glared at him. "I am no servant. Do you understand that?"

"Sure, sure," the man replied, taking a step back, then another, his gaze locked on the dagger. When he was far enough away, he rubbed his throat where a faint pink line formed. Raviathan returned the blade, never taking his eyes off the man. "Who are you then? The armies don't allow elves."

Raviathan lifted his chin. "I am here with Duncan, Commander of the Grey."

The dark man's face cleared as he looked the elf over with renewed interest. "You're his new recruit. He sent word about you."

The large man paled at the news. "I beg your pardon, ser. I didn't mean… Maker's breath. Ser, I'm just a simple quartermaster. No one special. Please, ser, I beg your pardon."

The begging put Raviathan off. Humans never apologized. Embarrassed by the sudden change in the quartermaster's manner, Raviathan spat, "Don't switch elves anymore."

"Oh. Of course, ser," the quartermaster said backing up into his storage area. "I'll… I'll certainly remember that."

The dark man was looking at him up and down, now taking in the weapons the elf carried. Raviathan forced himself not to fidget. Maker, but humans had a knack of always throwing him off his stride. Was he ever going to adjust to this world outside his alienage? He murmured, "Seems a number of people have heard about me."

"I'm Daveth," he said, holding out his hand in greeting.

Unnerved, Raviathan gripped Daveth's wrist in reflex. "Rav."

"I've heard only a little about you from Alistair. The other Wardens don't talk to us recruits much." He rubbed his hands and breathed warm air on them to heat up. "You're not what I expected."

"Oh?" asked Raviathan.

"Well, one of 'em said you're a top fighter, but I didn't expect an elf. But here you are."

Damn these shems. You scratch the surface, and they're all the same. "You've got a problem with that?" Raviathan asked with more anger than he intended. That Duncan hadn't wrote that his new recruit was an elf touched him. At least to Duncan he wasn't just some elf. He was an equal, a Grey Warden as valid as any of these shems.

"Hey now," Daveth said, raising his hands in placation. "I'm just saying. I've run with an elf or two back in Denerim. Quick with a blade if you ask me. If Duncan respects you, then I've no issue."

With a sigh Raviathan thought of what Duncan had asked of him. Be patient. "Sorry. I've had some trouble getting used to humans. You're from Denerim?"

"Aye, but I was born in a little nothing of a village a few days east of here. Ran off when I could. Dad of mine was a right angry git. Was only too glad to be rid of him. Farming never appealed to me anyhow."

"You've been here long?" If he was from Denerim, why hadn't Daveth made the journey with them?

"A week or so. Duncan sent me along with the last contingent of the king's army after he, ah, recruited me. Said he had business left in the city and needed to travel a bit more afterwards."

Raviathan cocked his head, not sure if he was reading the human correctly. "Did you want to be a Grey Warden?"

A nervous smile split Daveth's face. "Ah, well, not that I minded, but he had to conscript me." Raviathan raised his eyebrows in question, and Daveth's lips twitched. After a quick glance around, his voice lowered though no one was about. "Mayhap you might understand such things, but don't go blabbing about it. Was going to be hanged for thieving one too many times. I tell ya, Duncan is a fast bastard. Made me work for that bit of coin I took off him. Invoked the Right of Conscription though the guard was none too pleased about it."

Raviathan's mouth eased in a slight smile. "Alright, yes. I understand such things."

"Ah, knew you might. Elves who can fight don't work for the guards as I know it. Did Duncan tell you much of this Joining ritual then?"

"Very little."

"I hear the Wardens mean to send us out in the Wilds. Witches, wildlings, monsters, and now darkspawn crawling about. I don't know if they were having a go at me or not."

"Wildlings?"

"Chasind. Eat the flesh of the men they kill and wear their skins," Daveth said with a shiver. "Didn't think I'd have to be around them again."

"You… know this?" Maker's blood. The depravity humans could sink to astounded him. He thought he had seen the worst with Vaughan, but cannibalism and wearing the skin of the dead went beyond ghoulish.

"It's what my mom said. Took me and my brothers out one day when we was young to see what they did to a body. My youngest sib had nightmares for ages. Believe you me we didn't wonder off the village after that."

"How did your village manage to stay safe?"

"Wildlings don't leave the great trees in which they make their home often, not unless it's something urgent. Didn't bother us too much either as long as we left them a part of our harvest every year." Daveth shrugged. "If they kill the farmers, they don't get their portion. We needed their protection from the dryads, so as long as a kid didn't do something stupid like trounce through their territory, we had an understanding. Besides, farmers weren't no threat to them. They mainly fought each other. But then, as the Maker would have it, I'm not a farmer anymore. We're free game."

Creepy. Raviathan's skin itched at the thought of wearing human skin. He would have been convinced that humans truly were monsters if he hadn't seen the shrieks the night before.

"Then there's the Witch of the Wilds," Daveth said, squirming. "Maker help me, I'd never thought I'd be back here. As if the wildlings weren't enough."

"Witch of the Wilds?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard." Daveth seemed offended at Raviathan's blank expression. "Maker! What rock did Duncan find you under?"

"Hey!"

"I tell you, I'd take the wildlings any day over the Witch. At least with the wildlings you know you're going to die at some point. Stories of that Witch are nasty enough to make your ear tips fall off."

"Worse than cannibals?" Daveth hadn't struck him as particularly devout, yet here was another example of how far the Chantry's fear mongering reached. This Daveth was likely full of tall tales if his fear of apostates was any measure.

"Now see here. I ain't talking about some run about apostate. I met one back in Denerim. Nice enough fellow. The red light ladies had their fun with him before the templars could drag him back to that tower. The Witch of the Wilds is a different creature entirely."

"You mean she's an abomination?"

"Don't know what she is, but she's older than dirt. Just you watch yourself. She takes men, keeps them alive to feed on their souls like some giant spider. Turn them into husks. Half dead but not dead and left to wander the wilds as their bodies rotted away. One of them sort of staggered into our village once. Foaming at the mouth, dead eyed, and grey as if covered in ash. Attacked anything that moved. No matter how many times he was hit, he still kept coming after us. Was still twitching and moaning when we burned him."

"Rubbish." Sounded like a wildling with rabies or perhaps blight plague.

Daveth shook his head, eyes wide and earnest. "Truth or the Maker strike me down. We could hear the wildling women wail at night when one of their daughters was taken by the Witch. Chill your blood the way they howled. Believe me or not, but don't say I didn't give you fair warning."

"Fair warning given," Raviathan replied with a half grin. "Seems the Wardens don't mean to coddle us. Have you fought darkspawn yet?"

"Not yet. The Wardens have been warning me and Jory off until we're officially a part of the Order. Frankly, I'm surprised they've waited this long, but the few that would talk to us said it's important that the recruits go through the ritual together. Jory has been getting right impatient. He's been waiting for months."

"They haven't let him fight at all?"

"Not a bit of it. Turning him into a bit of a rolly round with Andraste's flame stuck up his arse if you ask me. I, on the other hand, have been enjoying the few diversions a place like this can offer."

"Careful. There are still guards about."

Daveth glanced over at the woman. "Indeed there are."

Following his line of sight, Raviathan grinned. "I suppose for an enterprising man, there are ways to while away the time."

"So. You said you could do better."

"I don't need the threat of darkspawn either."

"Perhaps after the battle then," Daveth said with a grin. "We'll see how well you do. First one to get a kiss from that lass gets their drinks free."

Raviathan wasn't sure if that was just this human or if they were all like that, but to bet on a woman was repugnant. They weren't darts or cards to gamble upon. Granted, he hadn't been particularly nice to the girls and women he had sex with, but he didn't bet on them either. Maybe that's why they used the word 'human' in 'dehumanizing'. But then he didn't understand why being call a dog was an insult. Dogs were such nice animals: loyal, protective, and playful. It could be that he was missing something again, so he decided to let it go without insult. "We're to be comrades. I can't take your money like that."

"Oh-ho," Daveth said with a hard grin. "That's big talk from an elf."

Raviathan turned his head sharply to the human. The human's hard eyes were more mischievous than mean, and Raviathan decided it was good natured teasing for having taken such offence before and goading the human a bit. He gave Daveth a sly smile then walked over to the woman who was warming her hands at one of the camp fires. She didn't even bother to look at him. "Excuse me," he said though she remained stone faced. "I don't suppose you've seen a dancing bear around here?"

She frowned at him then. "A… what?"

"A dancing bear," he said going for an innocent but playful look. "I heard the archdemon got scared and gave up, so we're to have a carnival tonight instead. I'm the juggler, but I can't find the bear."

She looked at him a minute then huffed. "Funny. Almost as funny as that outfit."

Instead of taking offense, he gave her a bright smile. "I've got no complaints. Without it, I'd freeze my little elven nips off." She scowled at the unexpected response.

Watching the elf, Daveth leaned against the stone wall and shook his head. Drunken sot. That pretty boy elf was all talk. What was it with elves anyway? In his experience, elves were quick to take offense and over silly things or even when what he said that was a truth they wouldn't admit to. He had met Tarimel briefly, and the man was definitely bitter. Here was yet another example of an elf looking for any excuse to be angry. No matter how many prostitutes Daveth had been with, he still found elven eyes eerie, almost hypnotic. At least with a prostitute, he could turn them around.

He was going to enjoy teasing this little braggart after the battle. Before the battle if he had time. Maybe if they were sent to the Wilds, he'd have a chance at ribbing. The new recruit kept chatting merrily as that gorgeous brunette continued to scowl at him. Daveth let his mind wander as the elf continued to strike out. Just what was this Joining anyway? Going into the Wilds was bad enough, but he had the sinking suspicion that they were going to have to drink something the mages were brewing. All the mages he had seen had been skinny and pale wimps. Nothing really to fear in them. The Witch of the Wilds was a whole different game of dice, and stories of her were enough to make any man's stones crawl back inside.

Daveth smirked as the pretty little elf started to walk away. He scowled when the brunette, who hadn't taken her eyes off the elf, jogged after him calling, "Wait." They were far enough away now that he could only hear their voices but not the words. The elf said something to her, looked at her as if annoyed, and continued to leave. Again she went after him. His jaw dropped open as the elf kept dismissing her, and the woman continued to chase after him. The elf looked distracted, annoyed, bothered, indifferent, and mildly interested. They stopped finally, and after a ten minute discussion, he shook his head and waved a dismissive hand at her. This time when he started away, she took his hand. She was standing quite close to him now, her fingers at play as she held his hand. Another brief discussion ensued. She looked around quickly to see who might be watching them, then led him off to a tent.

No way. Sneaking quietly, Daveth neared the tent the two had entered. Being careful not to be obvious, he listened to the sounds of armor being removed, some murmured words, and then a female gasp of pleasure. No bloody way. That elf had talked to her for twenty minutes, thirty tops. He continued to listen to a few low murmurings which gave way to more feminine sounds of joy. Daveth slunk away feeling frustrated and amazed. It was annoying as all get out, but give credit where it was due. Maybe the elf would be willing to teach him how to do that. In the meantime, Daveth went back to his tent to relieve the ache in his pants.

~o~O~o~

Raviathan decided he rather liked human women. Their scents were heavier, skin rougher, strange compared to elves, but their willingness more than made up for it. Her breasts weren't as large as the last woman, but they were well formed and larger than any elf. He ran a thumb over the high nub again and again as her breasts bounced with each thrust. And these women were so open to sex. Granted, they didn't have to worry about being kicked out of an alienage, but it was refreshing not to deal with any hang ups. If they wanted sex, they simply did so. Being around so many humans did have possibilities.

He withdrew to move one of her legs so her shoulders were flat with her torso twisted and rump exposed. He straddled the lower leg then and took some pleasure at gazing at the swollen lips before thrusting into her. He pumped fast, and she started stroking her own body, squeezing her bouncing breasts and running her hands over her stomach. The first thing she had done was suck him ready. She hadn't batted an eyelash when she saw him, had taken him in her mouth eagerly, so he assumed elven and human men were more or less similar.

Humans had so much hair. He smiled at the idea of bearded women. Strange how their hair drew the eye yet gave them the allure of mystery at the same time. That thick, curly hair couldn't hide them once their legs were open. His fingers played with her sex, exploring the folds and sensitivities there. He didn't rub the little nub knowing it was probably too sensitive right now. Instead he enjoyed the heat and textures. She raised her leg to give him better access, and he slowed so he could watch as he disappeared inside and see the deep pink peaks and valleys of her sex.

He ran his fingers up the walls of her sex, parting the lips and saw a bump that had developed a couple inches from the front. He pressed a thumb over it and was rewarded with a groan as she reflexively squeezed her breasts, pressing her nipples firmly. He rubbed it a little, a small gentle rotation, and she started to buck. He pushed her leg up, leaned forward, and thrust hard and fast. She threw her head back as he slapped into her again and again. His balls started to tighten. No. Just a little longer. He grimaced as he pushed faster. Maker she was wet. And the way she moved. Her mouth was bared open as if in pain as she panted. Just a little…

A sense of rushing of his whole body, from scalp to toes in skin prickling electricity, as he pushed all that force into her. There was that wonderful moment when there was no thought. Once over, he felt heavy. He slumped over her for a minute. Human women were a definite advantage. They both just breathed for a time. When he pulled out she writhed with a little moan. At least the tent was warm now. He was going to have to wash up again. After another minute of rest he started to dress.

"You're not staying?" she asked. She sounded a little wounded but was too tired to care overmuch.

"Sorry. I really am waiting for someone and being in a tent might make it hard to find me." That was true, but tired as he was, he wasn't about to sleep with her. The cool air outside the tent would help wake him up.

She wrapped a blanket up around herself and watched him dress with lazy eyes. "Will I see you later?"

There were worse things. "Maybe we can celebrate after the battle?"

"I'd like that," she said, twisting under the blanket to run a hand up his back. The movement had deliberately exposed one of her breasts, and he could tell she was pleased when his eyes fastened on it for a moment. He smiled at her, taking her hand to plant a kiss.

Leaving the tent, Raviathan couldn't help but envy the freedom humans had. When they wanted to have sex, they did so without guilt or shame. For them, sex was as natural an appetite to feed as hunger.

What had been fun in the moment turned into a heavy hollowness that nested into the pit of his stomach. That hollowness grew up his spine, it's roots creeping along his shoulders, down his arms and legs, clinging to the back of his throat.

In his childhood, trouble had always stemmed from the insistent thoughts that hunted after him. Those thoughts sought him in quiet moments, invaded his mind when he took his meals, troubled his sleep with constant wanting. Even when he found a woman to satiate the crawling, persisting needs of his body, it was never enough. He had grown up with children who were always starved for food or affection, and though his stomach was full and his family gave him security, he understood the distant, roaming gazes those children had. Distraction helped in the moment, but he gnawing need would sink it's teeth into him, gnash him until his brain was clouded, driving him to seek relief. Relief never lasted, leaving him calm but quietly melancholy. Raviathan bowed his head in memory. For the few brief months his life had been joined with another's, he had been released.

Did anyone see him leave the tent? Would they know what he did? His gaze darted around as he hurried away to clean up. Why had he dirtied himself for something as stupid as a bit of pride? If he was honest with himself, he knew the bet was just an excuse. Why couldn't he stop? Shame crawled over his skin, as close a companion as his own shadow and just as inescapable. Why couldn't he be as free as a human?


End file.
